


Breathe

by Lupinewings



Category: Backstrom (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9666452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupinewings/pseuds/Lupinewings
Summary: Backstrom always vaguely wondered why Niedermayer was assigned to his team. The happy, new age law enforcement slash forensics man drove him nuts and was simply too nice. Backstrom knew there was more but never paid attention. Now, he and his team may find out just what lurks in the past.





	1. 1

“Breathe! Breathe, damn you!”

“I am.”

Backstrom tightened the tie on Niedermayer’s leg, glancing up at Niedermayer’s face.  The younger man inhaled.“Tighter,” Niedermayer rasped.

“Your leg will fall off.” Gods, how had they gotten in this mess? Blood soaked into his pants as he knelt by Niedermayer.

“I have six hours or so to get to a doctor. And if I’m not seen in six hours, I’m dead anyway and my leg won’t matter.” Backstrom growled in his throat and yanked the tie hard. Niedermayer yipped--there was no other word for it--and Backstrom felt a guilty pang. He knotted the tie and looked at Niedermayer. “I’m all right,” Niedermayer said softly, voice wobbling. He didn’t look at his leg.

Backstrom did. The crossbow bolt lodged deep, just above the knee and slightly to the inside of the leg. It almost went completely through. Backstrom smelled the iron odor of blood, could practically taste it in the air. He looked at Niedermayer’s chest where crossbow bolt two rested, in and above Niedermayer’s left breast. That one worried him more than the leg.  He couldn't put a tourniquet there. Niedermayer shivered.

“God damn it. Niedermayer, you shouldn’t have…” Backstrom awkwardly said. _If only that damn door hadn't jammed. Faulkner's men would never have gotten to him._

“You’re welcome. It wasn’t your fault.” An inhale. “Sir, they’ll come back.”

“Shut up.” Backstrom pulled out his phone. “I’ll call for help.” He hastily dialed 911. “Yeah, Lieutenant Backstrom of Portland PD. I have an officer down. I need an ambulance at Smit’s Warehouse on 6th and Vine.”

“How bad is the officer?”

“He’s been shot twice and bleeding like a sieve.”

“Is he conscious?” Backstrom glanced at Niedermayer who watched him.

“Yeah, he’s awake.”

“And he’s bleeding profusely?”

“What part of shot twice don’t you understand? Of course he’s bleeding profusely!”

“Calm down, sir. I am dispatching an ambulance as we speak.”

“Good.” Backstrom heard a choked grunt and turned to find Niedermayer trying to pull himself up and against the wall. “Shit.” He set the phone down.

Nicole Gravely hummed as she poured a second cup of coffee. Reports done, a bright, sunny day. “So how was your date?” Paquet asked, popping up next to her.

“Good. It was good. And how is Cole?”

Gravely smiled as Paquet beamed. Paquet's FBI handler had become far more than a mentor and the Frenchwoman was blissfully happy.

“He got his transfer to Portland. We had a wonderful night.” Paquet smiled and Gravely grinned.

“He seems like a good guy. I’m happy for you, Nadia.”

“Thank you.” A mischievous light entered Paquet’s eyes. “He has two brothers.” Gravely laughed. Almond came into the break room, grabbed a doughnut.

“Niedermayer is with Backstrom?” he asked.

“Faulkner case. It has some possible ritual and supernatural tie ins, so he took Niedermayer,” Gravely explained.

“That should be interesting,” Almond said. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

“Which one?” Gravely asked and Almond flashed a grin.

They turned as Moto ran in, eyes wide. “There’s an officer down call,” he announced. In an instant, all levity left the room. _Officer down_. The words no law enforcement wanted to hear.

“Paquet,” Gravely started.

“I’ll break into the 911 call,” Paquet said. The entire station buzzed as tension swept through all the offices. _Officer down_. Someone they knew, even if just by name, was injured, possibly dying. People began nervously milling, listening, wondering who was hurt. The four hurried to the computer where Paquet did several things and then nodded. “In,” she said.

Gravely’s heart skipped as she recognized Backstrom’s angry voice. “I need an ambulance, where are they?”

“I told you, sir, they’re on the way. Please remain calm.”

“I am calm!”

“Just tell me about your partner’s injuries.”

“Right leg, shot above the the knee. And in the chest, left side.”

“And he’s conscious?” “Yes!”

“Lieutenant, we’re trying. Please remain calm.”

“Sonof…” Gravely grabbed her phone and dialed.

Backstrom rubbed his hands together, only succeeding in smearing the blood more. Niedermayer now sat propped against the wall, his eyes closed as he wheezed. “Niedermayer, they’ll be here soon,” Backstrom said.

“I know.” Backstrom sat beside him, not liking the waxy look to Niedermayer’s skin. “Talk,” Backstrom said.

“Huh?”

“Talk. Stay awake.”

Niedermayer opened his eyes. “Bolts have mechanical head,” he said. “They open when they impact.”

Backstrom nodded. “I understand that. Think Blue never took me hunting?”

“Sorry.” Niedermayer inhaled. He turned his head to look at Backstrom. “Sorry about Blue, too.”

Backstrom shrugged, “It’s over with." He cocked his head as a buzzing started. "Do you hear a phone?”

“Mine. Left pant pocket.”

“Great. What a time for Valentine to not be here,” Backstrom groused. Niedermayer gave a chuckle. “Hang on.” Backstrom plunged his fingers into Niedermayer’s pocket, withdrawing keys, a large, folded knife and the ringing phone. “Niedermayer?”

“I use the knife in my work,” Niedermayer said.

“OK.” He flipped open the phone. “Yeah?”

“Backstrom, how are you?” Gravely’s voice echoed.

“Gravely, get an ambulance here. Niedermayer’s been shot.”

“We know 911 has dispatched an ambulance. How bad is it? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. “ Backstrom glanced at Niedermayer. “It’s bad.” He swallowed.

“We’ll check on the ambulance.Keep him talking, Backstrom.”

“No kidding, Gravely. What do you think I’m doing? Just…” Backstrom dropped the phone as Niedermayer began coughing. Niedermayer pressed his right hand against his chest and a choked whine erupted from his throat. “Niedermayer?”

“It's ok. I think my lung has been nicked.” Niedermayer blinked rapidly.

“No!” Backstrom inhaled. “All right. What can we do?”

Niedermayer weakly smiled. “Get me to the doctor. It’s fixable, sir.”

Backstrom nodded. “You shouldn’t have told them you were me,” he said.

“Why not?”

Backstrom stared. “Because you wouldn’t have been shot, that’s why!”

“No, I still would have been shot. They just would have looked for and shot you as well.” Backstrom grunted, knowing Niedermayer was right. Backstrom settled back next to him.

“You didn’t have some idea this was going to happen, did you?”

Niedermayer laughed a bit and winced, pressing a hand to his chest. “If I knew this would happen, neither of us would be here. I did wonder when I heard Faulkner may be a suspect. I knew he did some sacrifice but mainly I knew he is very violent and hates you.”

“I put him in prison 10 years ago.”

“I know, I read the file.”

“Be glad it was his henchmen, not him. He never would have mistaken you for me.” Backstrom shook his head. "It was crazy."

“I would have told him you were at the station.” Niedermayer glanced at Backstrom. “Can you check the car, sir? I left water in it.”

“If the ambulance isn’t here in a minute, I’ll get you in the car and take you to the hospital.” Backstrom walked to the door, listened, and then peeked out. The car sat lopsidedly on three flat tires, crossbow bolts in each one. “Fuck.” Backstrom walked to the car, got the water and first aid kit and hurried back inside. Niedermayer wheezed as Backstrom handed him the water. He drank slowly, a few careful sips. Backstrom noted him shaking. “Here.” He pulled off his jacket and covered Niedermayer.

“Thank you.” Backstrom sat back down, opened the first aid kit.

“Car is damaged.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“We’ll get out of here, Niedermayer.”

“You should go now.”

“Someone has to load you on the ambulance.”

“I’d be all right.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t down here.”

“I’m not. If someone has to be shot, I’m the best choice.”

Backstrom blinked and looked at him. “What?” Niedermayer shrugged then clenched his teeth. “I’m in better shape than you, health wise sir, better than anyone in the unit except maybe Moto. I’m younger than Almond and you, physically bigger than Paquet or Gravely so I can lose more blood, and while Moto is stronger than me, I’m probably fitter. And emotionally, I’m the best choice as well.”

“What are you babbling about?” Backstrom shook out some Tylenol. Niedermayer carefully swallowed them with another sip of water.

“Think about it. Detective Gravely has her parents and her two brothers. She really is close to them. Almond is married, four kids. Sure they’re adults now but his daughter and he reconciled only a year ago. Paquet has Cole who is devoted to her. And Moto has his son.”

“And me?”

Niedermayer looked up, surprise clear on his face. “You have Valentine and Amy. She cares, a lot. And Valentine loves you. Even before you knew you were brothers.” Backstrom twitched.

“He loves a bed.”

Niedermayer smiled. “Whatever you say, sir.” He coughed and then hissed in pain.

“I’ll call your family when we get to the hospital.” Niedermayer stared at him, clearly dumbfounded.

“I thought…” he finally started. He shook his head. “Never mind. No need.”

“Jesus, it’s the least I can do.”

“I don’t have a family, sir.” Backstrom grunted. “My parents are dead, no siblings.” Now Backstrom really felt awkward.

“Sorry.” Niedermayer nodded. “When?”

“I was 16. Car accident. They just never came home. I had an aunt and uncle who took me in. My uncle died when I was 21, my aunt is in a nursing home. She has Alzheimer's.”

“Grandparents?”

“My paternal grandparents were dead before I was born, my maternal grandparents died before I was 4.” Niedermayer shifted, seemingly trying to get comfortable.

“Oh. Well, let me know who you want to call. I mean, you have friends.” That Backstrom knew.

“I do. And they’re just as close as family, it’s just none of them depend on me. Nathan and Joshua depend on Gravely for advice and Almond has his wife and Moto’s son Dwayne is only 7, well, almost 8. Valentine and you need each other and Cole needs Paquet.”

“Nathan and Joshua? Who the hell are they?"

“Gravely’s brothers.”

"You know their names?” Backstrom stared at his sergeant. He could barely remember his team's names and Niedermayer knew siblings?

Niedermayer looked confused. “Of course.”

“I suppose you know birthdays, too.”

“Of the unit? Yes.” Niedermayer rattled off birthdates of the team and also Valentine’s birthdate.

“God, Niedermayer, we have to get you laid.” Backstrom snapped his fingers. “Svetlana! She’d be perfect!”

“Svetlana?”

“She’s gorgeous and would love you. She’s a little pricey but I’d pay the first time.”

Niedermayer exhaled. “No, thank you,” he said.

“You have something against hookers?”

“No, I have nothing against sex workers.” Niedermayer shifted again, bit his lip. “I just don’t need one. Thank you for the offer.” He reached down, brushed his leg with his fingertips. “Mackenzie,” he stated.

“What?” Backstrom tried to reformulate his thoughts.

“Mackenzie would be the best bet for the unit. Anders isn’t as careful as he should be, Peterson and Gravely wouldn’t work well together, and you hate Jackson. Mackenzie is smart, capable, and would fit well.”

Backstrom looked closely at Niedermayer, not liking the way the younger man was thinking.“Are you planning on going somewhere?!” His voice deepened.

“It’s just in case, sir.” Niedermayer looked at Backstrom, eyes clear.

“She’s a lesbian!”

Niedermayer’s brows drew together. “And?”

“Just saying. Besides, I am finally used to you.” Backstrom felt Niedermayer shiver. He awkwardly moved a little closer and felt the younger man pressing against him, shaking. He allowed Niedermayer to press close, drawing some of his body heat.

“You mentioned calling someone. I would appreciate if you call Mark Watts,” Niedermayer said. “He’s a good friend of mine. He’d like to know. And there’s a key for my apartment in the keys you have. Please ask Valentine to get a bag from my closet. It has a gift for Dwayne in it. His birthday is this weekend and I thought he might like it.”

“You bought something for Moto’s kid?”

“Yes. Just a small something.” Niedermayer sighed and Backstrom poked him. “I’m awake.”

“Watts...he’s the head of homicide at Salem PD.”

“Yes. He and I were partners long ago.”

“You’re forensics.”

“I’m a cop.” Backstrom pursed his lips, decided not to argue.

 “Watts--yeah, he worked homicide here for a while. I knew him somewhat.”

“I know. He mentioned you."

“He’s gay.”

Niedermayer smiled a little, as if he guessed Backstrom would say that. “Yes, I know. And no, we didn’t sleep together.”

"I didn't ask that! And also, you’re heterosexual, as you keep claiming. Funny how many gays you hang around with.”

Niedermayer didn’t reply at first, just trembled a little more. Backstrom watched as blood seeped from Niedermayer’s leg injury. “I’m me.” Niedermayer breathed out slowly. “I’m just me. Usually it’s women who attract me but every once in awhile…”

Backstrom lifted his eyebrows. Niedermayer finally coming out?“I knew you were gay.”

Niedermayer gave a choked sound that Backstrom knew would haunt him in nightmares. Blood welled from his chest. “Not gay. Just me.”

“Bisexual then. No one cares, Niedermayer.”

The look in Niedermayer's face seemed unnatural, out of place. Sadness, despair--Backstrom wasn't sure. “You have more faith than I do then, sir.” Niedermayer’s fingers clenched. “Remember James Marshall?”

Backstrom nodded. “Yeah, he left because he didn’t want a desk job.”

“And because few people wanted a gay partner. Mark had that issue as well. Some people in law enforcement have problems with gays and bisexuals.” Backstrom frowned, shifted to watch Niedermayer closer. Obviously this was important to the younger man as Niedermayer seemed unusually upset. Backstrom softened his voice.

“We’re Portland, not Kentucky. Name me one person who would have an issue.”

To his horror and rage, Niedermayer answered immediately. “Hirsch.”

Backstrom thought. “The patrolman? Tall, skinny, mustache?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a moron. Did he say something to you?” Backstrom fought back a rising wave of rage. Niedermayer might be an idiot but he was Backstrom's idiot.

Niedermayer shook his head slowly. “I’m forensics, sir. I know where to hurt someone.” Startled, Backstrom looked at him and Niedermayer smiled. Backstrom laughed. He patted Niedermayer’s shoulder quickly.

“Stay with me, Niedermayer. We need you.”

Niedermayer jerked. “I’m all right.”

"Are there others?"

"It doesn't matter, sir."

"Hell, yes, it matters!"

Niedermayer shook his head. Backstrom hissed through his teeth and changed questions, nudging the man to stay awake.

“Why are you in our unit? I never did ask you that.”

“Sir?”

“I know why the others washed up but not you. Almond because he insulted the wrong person, Gravely because she was the scapegoat, Paquet because she associated with criminals, and Moto wanted out of uniform and thought this would be a boost. Me, everyone know I’m a drunk.”

“Not anymore.”

“It hasn’t been that long, Niedermayer.”

“184 days. 185 if you count today.” Backstrom stared.

“You know how long I’ve been clean?”

“Sure.”

“You have an eidetic memory?” “I wish. No, I just have a good memory and I trained it.”

“Christ you need a hobby. So why did you get assigned to the loser unit?”

“We’re not losers.”

“Not anymore. We’re a crack team. But why did you get assigned to it? What did you do?”

“Talked too much.” Niedermayer pushed himself straighter and cried out involuntarily. Backstrom snatched up his phone, dialed 911 again.

“Where’s my ambulance?!”

“Who is this?”

“Backstrom, Portland PD. I called about an officer down. Where is the ambulance?”

“Sir, the ambulance is on the way. We’re having a few issues in that area.”

“He’s dying!”

“They’re coming as fast as they can.”

“If he bleeds out, lady, I’m coming to find you.”


	2. 2

Backstrom hurled down the phone, ignoring the crack, and looked at Niedermayer. Niedermayer gazed at him steadily. “You need to leave, sir.” The voice, low and even, made Backstrom's stomach flip. Nidermayer looked resigned, calm, and so incredibly dead eyed.

“The hell with that. You are not giving up that easily.” Backstrom grabbed up his phone, glad to see it still worked, and punched a number. “Gravely…"

 To his immense relief, his partner answered immediately.  “We know. We’re coming in. The feds are in that area, so nothing is moving well. But we’re coming. Is he awake?”

“Yeah but he’s hurting.” Backstrom glancd again at Niedermayer.

“We’ll be there. Tell him to hang on.”

“OK.”  Backstrom hung up, looked down at Niedermayer. “Would it help if I tightened the tie more?”

“No, it’s numb now. My chest hurts more.”

Backstrom  sighed. “So why were you sentenced to the team?”

“I told you.” Niedermayer tried to shrug, yelped in pain.

Backstrom snorted. “Ass.” He sat down, close to Niedermayer, ignoring the man leaning in and shaking. “I’ll find out, you know.” He allowed his hand to brush Niedermayer's fingers, felt sticky blood as Niedermayer briefly gripped his hand.

“You haven’t yet.”

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“No, sir. You do know why I came to the team. I talk too much.”

Backstrom frowned. Niedermayer’s breathing came faster now, more shallow. “I need you to hang on,” he said. “The team is on the way.”

“Thank them.”

“You do that,” Backstrom shot back. “Do not fade out on me here!”

“I’m just tired,”

“No sleeping!” Niedermayer nodded. “16, huh? Shitty age.”

“It was all right.” Niedermayer looked around the warehouse. 

“What did your folks do for a living?” Backstrom had to get Niedermayer to focus on him. Niedermayer blinked, looked back.

“My mother was a lawyer, my father was an investment banker.”

Backstrom whistled. “Wealthy family.”

Niedermayer shook his head. “Middle class. My mother was a public defender.”

“Bet you still did the summer camp and vacation things.”

“Some.” A smiled tugged at Niedermayer's lips.

Backstrom drummed his fingers on the concrete floor. “You never do talk about your family much. I should have caught that.”

Amusement filled Niedermayer's face. “Sir, you don’t pay attention when I _do_ talk.”

Stung, Backstrom turned his head to glare but caught Niedermayer’s lips quirking. “Jackass.” Niedermayer managed a smile. “So you know the teams’ sibs and kids and lovers?”

“I told you my memory is good. By the way, Ms. Ganzanian would love some specialty coffee for her birthday next month.”

“How do you know? Do you talk to her too?” Now Backstrom shoved anger and jealousy aside. Amy could see who she wanted but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. And Niedermayer certainly couldn't be seeing her, could he?

“She took you to a meeting last week. We chatted after she spotted me in a coffee shop.”

“Yeah, she took me. Valentine was out.” Backstrom nodded. Amy had mentioned meeting his Sergeant but he hadn't paid attention to that trivia at the time.

“Daniel Nelson. I know.”

Backstrom’s keen ears caught anger, even through the pain. He jerked. “You know him?”

“Criminal forger--and not a very good one. Poor artist, mildly entertaining conman.”

Backstrom felt his mouth open. “Are you checking up on Valentine’s pickups?” Niedermayer flushed. “Are you  _ jealous _ ?!” It couldn't be this easy, could it?

“Valentine can date whom he wishes.” Prim. Proper, And drenched in controlled, taut anger.

“You are--you idiot! First of all, Valentine doesn’t date, he screws.And he’s made plenty of moves on you and you did nothing. In fact, you said no. Don’t blame him for getting some action.”

Niedermayer squirmed. “It’s not that…”

Backstrom broke into loud peals of laughter. It was stupid but here laid a man dying and that man was annoyed over a hookup. With Backstrom’s brother. Who was well renowned for being a slut. Niedermayer glowered but then looked away, ears red. Snorting to a stop, Backstrom gave Niedermayer’s shoulder another pat as he got himself under control. “You stupid twit.”

Niedermayer exhaled noisily through his nose yet he looked better somehow. “I like Valentine, yes,” he said in a low tone that sounded embarrassed. And maybe frightened. Backstrom couldn’t tell.

“Least this will be easy. And he’s cheaper than Svetlana,” Backstrom said, wiping his eyes.

“No. I mean, he has to want to be with me.” Niedermayer sounded a touch frantic. "He has to like the idea of being with me."

Backstrom rolled his eyes. “Niedermayer, just ask him out. Be a man.”

Niedermayer frowned then paled. He grabbed Backstrom’s hand and pointed a pile of pallets. “Go,” he whispered. Footsteps echoed outside the door. Niedermayer gave Backstrom his jacket. “Go!” Backstrom hesitated. “You can save me easier if they don’t know you’re here.”

Backstrom reluctantly headed away. He couldn’t go back into the office again--the door still stood as jammed as before and he dare not get stuck again. He slipped behind the pallets, reached for his gun and touched smooth, empty leather. “What…”

He still had Niedermayer’s knife, that was something. Boots rang out on the floor and while Backstrom’s line of sight was hampered slightly, he could see Niedermayer easily and he could hear perfectly. 

 

 


	3. 3

Faulker stood over Niedermayer, a heavyset man with thinning, black hair. "This?" he snarled.  Backstrom saw Faulkner bend over, grab Niedermayer’s hair. “This isn’t Backstrom!” Faulkner turned to his henchmen. “Not even close.” He yanked Niedermayer’s head back “This is one of his men, Niedermayer. You mistook this for Backstrom?”

“He said he was Backstrom!” one stated, Tony if Backstrom recalled. He carried a rifle while Hall carried the crossbow. Faulkner probably had a knife, Backstrom mused. He liked carving into flesh.

Faulkner shook Niedermayer's head fiercely. "Where's Backstrom?" he demanded.

"Station," Niedermayer replied in a tight voice. "I go out first"

Faulkner leaned over Niedermayer. "I will cut off your head and send it to Backstrom in a box," he said.  Niedermayer gagged then, to Backstrom's horror, Niedermayer barked out a laugh. 

"Go ahead. Go ahead and do that. Do you know what that will do to you?"

"Me?!"  
  


"Every cop in the nation will go for you. They will hound not just you but your gitlfriend, children, mother, father, everyone you know. The FBI, Homeland Security will follow every action, shadow everything you do. It doesn't matter if I am a poor cop or not--even dirty cops--no way would you be allowed to go free after an act like that."

"Think I care?"

 

Backstrom twitched. Niedermayer was completely right--all hell would break loose. Not that Niedermayer would be alive to see it.

"You may not but your people will" Niedermayer exhaled. "And so will those you work with. You can't do acts like that and expect to survive."

"Boss," Tony started.

"Quiet! I am the leader here, I lead the pack!"

"Alpha wolves are a pair and they care for the whole pack. They care for every pack member. Wolves are gentle, caring creatures..."

_ Niedermayer shut up!  _ Backstrom's hand tightened on the knife.

Faulkner leaned back and slammed a foot into Niedermayer's leg. A bloodcurdling scream ripped free followed by sounds of vomiting. "I will drag you behind my car to the Canadian border!" Faulker kicked Niedermayer's ribs hard.

Backstrom stepped forward, grasping the knife and shaking. He was going to die, he knew it--but Niedermayer wouldn’t be left to die in his place. Or die alone.

Backstrom's ears screamed with pain as two shots rang out and Backstrom ran. Two thuds as bodies hit concrete. Backstrom felt his chest burn and he tackled the still standing, stunned Tony, brought him to the floor. Pain shot through his knees. “Niedermayer! Niedermayer! Answer me!” He hurriedly cuffed Tony behind his back, grabbed the rifle, looked around. Three bodies laid on the ground and the smell of vomit and blood hung in the air. Blood puddled and kept expanding. Backstrom scrambled to his feet. “Niedermayer! _Peter_ , damn it!”

“Here.”

Weak, so pain wracked that Backstrom kicked Tony as he passed and the man yelled. He stumbled to where Niedermayer laid, splattered with bile, blood, and god knows what. Backstrom knelt down, ignoring the stench and dampness but vaguely wishing for his poncho. “My leg’s not numb anymore,” Niedermayer whispered, teeth rattling together. “He kicked the bolt all the way through.”

Backstrom swallowed. Indeed, the bolt now protruded on both side of the leg. Blood spilled but not as much as he feared. “The tie’s working.”

“Sir, I can’t breathe well.”

Backstrom laid down the rifle, wrapped an arm around Niedermayer’s waist and pulled him up into a sitting position. Niedermyer panted, eyes wide and a little fearful. In his hands, he clenched Backstrom’s gun. “I’m here. Breathe,” Backstrom ordered. 

“Drop the gun! Federal agents!”

Backstrom craned his neck around. People wearing Homeland Security and DEA jackets entered the room. “We’re police! Portland PD, Lieutenant Backstrom!”

“Drop the gun!”

Backstrom lightly slapped Niedermayer’s cheek as the injured man simply gasped for air. Niedermayer’s eyes shifted and he looked at Backstrom, focusing on him. “Drop the gun.”

Niedermayer’s fingers loosened and the gun clattered on the floor. His ribs heaved under Backstrom’s arm. “Slower,” Backstrom said. “Just slow. You’ll be fine.”

“Backstrom!”

Gravely charged in, Almond and Moto behind her. “Where’s the ambulance?” Backstrom yelled.

“Behind us,” Gravely said. “Niedermayer--oh, hell.”

Almond slipped around her, came to Niedermayer’s left side. He gently took Niedermayer’s arm, lifted slightly, and Niedermayer uttered a mangled keen. Almond froze. “The paramedics are here,” he said. 

Backstrom watched the Homeland Security people mill near Faulkner’s body. “What the...Four months of work gone! Who did this?!”

“I did,” Niedermayer breathed softly.

“Shut up, “ Backstrom snapped as the paramedics eased Niedermayer to the gurney. Gravely knelt down, lifted the gun with a gloved hand and bagged it. She handed it to Almond, bent down and picked up something else.

“No one goes anywhere. What happened?” the same man yelled.

“Get him to the hospital,” Backstrom snapped.

“Sir?” Niedermayer asked. He trembled visibly but watched Backstrom.

“We’ll be there, Niedermayer. When you wake up, we’ll be there waiting.” Niedermayer gazed at him briefly as the paramedics covered him with a blanket. Backstrom stared at him right back. “Live. And that’s an order.”

Niedermayer actually smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“Just hold it,” the Homeland Security man ordered.

“Go,” Gravely snarled to the paramedics. “Now.” The paramedics eyed her and rolled Niedermayer towards the door. “Moto,” she said.

“Got it, detective.” Moto flanked the gurney, watching over Niedermayer.

A woman in a Homeland Security jacket knelt by Faulkner. “Right through the eye.”

“Crime scene technicians are on the way.” Almond walked over to her.

“Sanders,” she said, standing up. “Agent Michaels is head of our team.”

“Almond.”

“Almond, wait until forensics arrives then you can head to the hospital,” Backstrom said.

“I’ll be there.”

“Gravely, drive me.”

“Let’s go.”

“Hang on,” Michaels said. “We need a statement and figure out what happened here. You and your man just screwed up a major federal investigation.”

“My man is in the hospital. You can get a statement there!” Backstrom roared. Gravely grabbed his arm and pushed him to the door. Sirens wailed from outside as what Backstrom thought was the ambulance pulled out. Other sirens joined the din. 

“What is that?”

“We called in some squad cars. They’ll escort the ambulance, clear a path,” Gravely said as crime scene techs hurried inside.

“Backstrom!”

Backstrom blinked in the bright sun, turned at the yell. Valentine ran over, darting past police and Gravely waved the uniforms off. Valentine hugged Backstrom roughly, briefly and a surprised Backstrom hugged him back. “I heard you were shot,” Valentine gulped as he pulled away. “You’re hurt?”

“I’m fine. It’s not me.”

Valentine’s gaze flicked over him, Gravely, and the assorted squad cars. “Niedermayer?” 

Backstrom nodded and Valentine paled. “I’ll see you at the hospital.” He looked at Backstrom. “I’ll bring you some clean clothes.”

Backstrom looked down at himself. “Good idea.”

In the car, Gravely glanced at Backstrom. “You ok?”

“I wasn’t shot, Gravely!”

“I know,” she patiently said. “But you had to be with the one who was.


	4. 4

Backstrom silently stared out the windowas Gravely drove. He desprately wished to wash his hands, coated with stiffening blood and fluids. Niedermayer's lifeblood. About seven blocks later, he muttered “He said he was me. He risked his life for me. I don’t even treat him that well. Why in hell…?” 

“He likes you, Backstrom. We’re all a team and yeah, you’re an ass but we all have each other’s back. You talked to him, kept him alive.”

“Did you know his parents were dead?”

Gravely shook her head, made a smooth left turn. “I found out when you did.” Backstrom furrowed his brow. “You left the phone on. The line was open. We all, ah, heard it.”

“Christ!”

“I’m a little creeped out about how much he knows about all of us.”

“You too?” Backstrom drummed his fingers on the car’s dash. “It’s freaky, all right.”

“So are you going to tell Valentine?”

“Niedermayer can get his own dates.”

Gravely chortled. “You did good,” she finally said. “Really good, Backstrom.”

“Great, now everyone will think I like people.”

“I don’t think that’s a worry.”

"How much did you hear?"

"A lot. Paquet kept us patched in."

At the hospital, Moto met them. “He’s in surgery,” Moto said. “You ok?”

“Yeah,” Backstrom muttered. “I’ll clean up.”

“Wait,” Gravely said. “Wash the hands but we need your clothes as evidence.”

“What?”

“When Valentine brings your change of clothes, Moto and I will bag the clothes.” Gravely looked at her partner. “Two people are dead, Backstrom. Everything must be done right the first time. I assume that was your gun?”

“Yes.” Backstrom twitched.

“Niedermayer said he was the shooter,” Gravely said.

“He said it in the ambulance,too,” Moto said.

“He never could shut up,” Backstrom snapped. "Don't let him talk to anyone. Get a union rep here."

“Why did Faulkner use a crossbow?” Gravely asked.

“He didn’t. One of his men did. Crossbows are quiet. Cause a lot of pain, too.”

They stood quietly for a few minutes until Valentine joined them, handing Backstrom a bag. “Thanks.” Backstrom headed for the restroom, Moto and Gravely behind him. “Where are you going?” Backstrom asked Gravely.

Gravely rolled her eyes. “I have the evidence bags. And what, do you think you have something I want? You strip, I bag, Moto tags. Valentine, can you make sure no one else enters the bathroom?”

“Like play a cop?”

“No,” Gravely and Backstrom chorused.

“Just watch the door,” Gravely said. “Don’t let anyone in.”

Valentine rolled his eyes.

In the bathroom, Backstrom reluctantly stripped to his shorts and socks. Gravely collected each piece with gloved hands and Moto tagged the bags. Backstrom noted Gravely’s careful, neutral expression. “Stop eyeballing the package,” he said.

“Stop flattering yourself,” she shot back.

Backstrom grabbed his bag of clothes and glared. “Leave,” he ordered.

“We’re done,” Gravely said. They left and Backstrom began washing up in blessed solitude.

Gravely handed Moto the bags. "Take these in please.”

“Sure. I’ll be back. Are you telling Valentine or is Backstrom?"

“Backstrom said no one.”

“Tell me what?” Valentine demanded as he appeared with Paquet and Almond.

“Nothing,” Gravely said. “Moto, go. Almond, how’s the scene?”

“Busy. We should talk to Sanders if we need to. Agent Michaels wants someone’s head.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Gravely stripped off her gloves. “If Niedermayer dies, it’s because Michaels kept the ambulance out.”

“Someone kept the ambulance away?” Valentine asked, voice rising.

“Homeland security and DEA,” Paquet said. “There was a case going on.”

“So they left Peter and Backstrom to die?” Valentine’s eyes gleamed.

“In a word, yes.” Gravely gestured to Moto and the man left. “But they’re both alive and we just have to see if Niedermayer pulls through.”

Almond looked at Gravely then Paquet. “Come on, Valentine,” Paquet said. “Let’s check on Niedermayer.”

Valentine suspiciously looked at her but walked off with her to the nurse’s station. “You all right?” Almond asked.

“They left them there to die,” Gravely said in a low, furious voice. “They knew Niedermayer was shot and did nothing. No, I’m not all right.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

He reached out, took her clenched fist. She inhaled, squeezed his hand, and they stood together for a moment. Then she let go with another squeeze. “Thank you.”

Backstrom joined them a few minutes later. They sat in a waiting room with Paquet and a pacing Valentine. “Sit,” Backstrom said. “This may be a while.”

A few other police officers drifted in as minutes went by, then a few more. Moto joined them. Soon the room filled with both uniformed and plain clothed police. Cole came in, hugged Paquet who held him close. Almond's wife Janette and their daughter arrived, handed out coffee and sandwiches. Gravely and Backstrom both stiffened as Sanders and Michaels came in. Michaels walked over to Backstrom, eyes burning. “I’d appreciate a statement by tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth.

“We’ll see. My man is still in surgery.”

“My superiors want answers.”

“How about go to hell?” Backstrom said. Michaels began drawing himself up but then Moto stepped over and another officer and then another. Sanders handed Backstrom a card.

“Please call us. And we’re sorry about your man.”

“Sorry?” Gravely said loudly. “You caused it!”

In an instant, the mood turned darker. Sanders looked around as Michaels bristled. “It’d be best if everyone calmed down,” Almond said.

“We’ll go,” Sanders said. She tugged Michaels’ arm and they left amid glares and mutters. Backstrom eyed his partner. She merely shrugged. Backstrom felt his lips quirk into a smile. More police came in as did the chief who walked over to the team and quietly said a few words to each team member.

Backstrom watched his brother start pacing again. Valentine didn’t hate doctors as much as Backstrom but obviously he was uncomfortable. Backstrom stood then stopped as Amy came in. She embraced him wordlessly. Backstrom shook and held her.

"I'm so sorry, Everett."

"Thank you."

He breathed in her scent, stood in her arms until a surgeon walked in. The doctor looked at the assorted police. Backstrom released Amy and the team stood. “Sergeant Niedermayer lost a lot of blood and he has a lot of healing to do but he should be all right.” Relief swept the room, people blinking away tears or silently  wiping their eyes. “He’s being taken to his room. I know a lot of you would like to see him but for now, just a few people. He said thank you to all of you and asked for his team and Valentine.”


	5. 5

The team moved after the doctor, Valentine following. Cole and Amy stayed behind with Almond's family. The doctor led them to a nearby room where a pale, weak, but alive Niedermayer laid in a bed. “Hey,” he said softly.

Paquet moved first, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. Backstrom jerked. _It’s the same thing she does to Valentine. How long has she seen him as a brother more than a lover?_   _Or even an ex?_ Niedermayer squeezed her hand. Moto came over. “Crossbow bolts. Badass, Niedermayer.” Niedermayer grinned. Almond tapped the good knee.

“Hurry back.”

“Thanks.”

Gravely carefully, clumsily hugged him. Niedermayer muttered something that made her lightly punch his uninjured arm and smile. Then Backstrom. Niedermayer watched him and Backstrom felt everyone staring. He inhaled. He did horrible at this. A slight push from behind and he stumbled forward, glaring back at his brother. Niedermayer snorted a little. “Thank you,” Niedermayer said.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Backstrom grumbled. He watched Niedermayer’s mouth curve up into a grin, feeling an odd happiness at the sight of the smile

“I won’t.”

“I mean, Mackenzie is prettier than you.”

“You’re not her type,” a voice said who Backstrom was pretty sure was Gravely.

“Just rest. And don’t talk to the feds. I’ll take care of it,” Backstrom said. Niedermayer tilted his head but nodded.

“We will,” Paquet corrected.

“Thank you, all of you.” Niedermayer finally looked at Valentine.

“We’ll let you alone,” Paquet said, shooing out the others. “Get some rest.”

Valentine blinked as Backstrom patted his shoulder and left. “OK,” Valentine said. “So we’re alone.” He put a slight purr in his voice.

To his surprise, Niedermayer pinked, glanced down. “I just wondered if you could do me a favor.”

“Oh, I’d love to but the doctor said you lost a lot of blood.”

Darker red now. “I knew he’d tell you,” Niedermayer muttered. “I just wanted to get you my key…”

“Wow, you do move fast. That’s all right, I’ll keep up.”

Niedermayer glanced up, looked torn between laughing and hiding. Valentine shook his head, absolutely confused. “I was just going to ask if you could get my tablet from my place. And a bag in my closet. It has a gift for Moto’s son."

Valentine nodded. “All right. Anything else?”

Crimson cheeked, Niedermayer shook his head. “My tea but that’s not important.”

“I’ll make you up a care tote.” He grinned wickedly. “Prepare for something special.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Valentine inhaled. “Next time, don’t get shot, ok?”

“I’ll try to stay safe.” Niedermayer breathed. “Otherwise, Backstrom will have to be with me to save me.”

“Good.” Valentine reached out, touched Niedermayer’s hand. “You’re needed.”

“So are you.”

The words, soft spoken as they were, made Valentine jerk. “So are you admitting you need a bit of Valentine in your life?” he teased.

Niedermayer looked at him oddly, a weird smile on his lips. “More than a bit. You certainly add flavor,” he said.

Valentine jerked again. While he and Niedermayer talked quite a bit, he flirted. Niedermayer deflected or gave him long suffering but amused smiles. “How many drugs are you on?”

Niedermayer laughed slightly. “Come on, Val,” came Backstrom’s irritated voice from the hallway.

“Fine!” Valentine leaned down, brushed Niedermayer’s cheek with his lips. “Rest. I’ll be back later.”

Niedermayer watched him go with a fond smile.

At the barge, Backstrom flopped into his chair. “You hungry?” Valentine asked as Backstrom sniffed the air. The aroma of roast beef filled the barge.

“Yeah.” Valentine puttered around the kitchen, handed Backstrom a heaping plate of steaming meat and potatoes. “You cooked?”

“I plugged in a slow cooker.” Valentine began eating.

“We have a slow cooker?”

“It was a gift. So was the meal. Easy. Dump frozen food into slow cooker. Turn on slow cooker."

"More than you usually do."

"Look at yourself." Backstrom wolfed down his meal. Afterwards he and Valentine watched TV. “You all right?” Valentine finally asked.

“Not really but I will be.”

“He said you saved his life.”

“Right after he saved mine. Those bolts were meant for me.”

“What happened?”

Backstrom exhaled. “We were in the warehouse. I’m in the upstairs office. I hear voices and go to open the door. It won’t open--the entire door is jammed. I can hear them talking. Niedermayer says he’s me. Tells them he’s alone. They tell him Faulkner wants him dead and they’re going to kill him. I finally break the window, crawl out. He’s bleeding on the floor.” Backstrom finished his water, wishing for a beer. “I call an ambulance, keep him awake. We hear voices, know it’s the bad guys. In the end, the bad guys are dead, one captured, Homeland Security is pissed, and Niedermayer lives.”

Valentine nodded slowly. “So he needs a raise,” he said.

Backstrom grunted. “Did you know he has no family?”

Valentine nodded again.  “Parents died when he was 16 or so. He said he was raised by his aunt and uncle, one who is dead, one who isn’t.”

“You _knew_ all this?”

“Sure. We do talk now and then.”

“Poetry sessions don’t count.”

“Hah. I need his keys from you. He wants some stuff.”

“Like what?”

“His tablet, tea, clothes, who knows?”

“You just want to roam around his apartment.”

“He does have a very nice shower. And huge bed.”

“Like you’ve been in it.”

“I’ve gotten to sleep in it.”

Backstrom nodded. When he’d first gone clean, it was not uncommon for him to find various members of his team in the barge when he woke. They dragged him around, hung out, and basically forced him to be human. Valentine did most of the work but sometimes his brother needed a break and Backstrom found out he’d crash occasionally with Niedermayer or at Niedermayer’s place while Niedermayer fussed with Backstrom. The forensics man lived alone, cooked, had a large apartment, and, Backstrom suspected, vision quested with pot or other drugs now and then.  In fact, Niedermayer provided a few homemade meals for the brothers while Backstrom fought his addictions. Yet despite this, somehow the engaging thief had not coaxed Niedermayer into his bed. Backstrom pretty much knew why now. Niedermayer obviously wanted to date rather than screw, do the whole romantic thing. _He never was too bright._

He tossed Valentine the keys and crawled into bed. Valentine disappeared.

Valentine walked around Niedermayer’s apartment casually. It smelled heavily of incense and faintly of something that was strictly Niedermayer. Valentine carefully packed a small duffle with tea, a few granola bars, the closet bag with the present, and the tablet. Valentine glanced at the assorted papers on Niedermayer’s desk, shaking his head over the excessive tidiness. He and Backstrom lived sloppily save for Valentine’s own room which he kept neat but Niedermayer’s apartment screamed spotless. Valentine flicked through a catalog and then spotted a brochure with a note that said V?. Valentine frowned thoughtfully. It was a brochure for an art appraiser course. He looked it over and carefully put it back. He walked into the second bedroom/library. Here Niedermayer meditated and read. Full bookcases, a pair of cozy chairs and meditation cushions. Valentine picked a few books, placed them in the duffle, and went to pack some clothes.

He ignored the suits and ties, found Niedermayer’s two pairs of jeans, a few t-shirts, and some underwear. He packed quickly, shoving a brightly colored pair of flannel pajamas in the duffle. Then he headed for the hospital where he found a very awake Niedermayer restlessly moving in his bed. “You should be sleeping.”

“So should you.” Niedermayer watched him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I have some granola bars on the duffle along with clothes.” He grinned. “Sexy silk underwear, by the way.”

Niedermayer smiled. “For the days I wear underwear,” he said calmly. Valentine looked at him, repressing his shock. Was his crush actually flirting?

“Someone is feeling awfully bold.” He handed Niedermayer the tablet. “Just what have you been contemplating, Sergeant?”

“Nothing too illegal.”

“Hmm, pity.”

They bantered as Niedermayer hastily typed on his tablet. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” Valentine asked.

“I ache. My mind is restless. And I have a lot to do.”

“Like what?”

“My statement.”

“You got shot today. They’ll wait.”

Niedermayer shrugged then winced. “Ow. Maybe. But--how much did Backstrom tell you?”

“He saved you right after you saved him. And you claimed to be him.”

Niedermayer looked over at him. “Anything else?”

“We chatted.” Valentine sipped some water. “You are taking your painkillers right?”

“All the tissues are just swelling and that means I ache more.” He stretched his right hand.

“So, who shot who?”

Niedermayer’s head shot up, eyes wide. He visibly inhaled. “I shot them,” he said quietly. “Backstrom didn’t do anything wrong.”

Valentine coughed. “You?” he gasped. “You can shoot? But--never mind. If you want to talk, I’m here but don’t talk to anyone else without your police union lawyer.”

“How do you…”

“I watch Law and Order.”

Niedermayer looked at him and then looked at his hands. “Good advice,” he said. Valentine reached out, squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Val.”

“Anytime.”

Niedermayer gazed at him for a few moments then turned as a nurse hurried in. “Oh! Sir, visiting hours are long over. And sergeant, can’t you sleep?”

“He’s my friend. He’s welcome here.” Niedermayer sat up. “And I’m not tired.”

The nurse sighed. “Mr. Niedermayer, please rest. Have you taken your medication?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“All right.  Sir,” she looked at Valentine. “I can get you a pillow and blanket.”

“Thanks.”

Valentine realized then he still had Niedermayer’s hand. He released it with a wink. They talked quietly until Niedermayer yawned for the third time and Valentine leaned back in his chair. Valentine fell asleep surprisingly quick and woke to angry voices.


	6. 6

“I told you, I will work on my statement today.” Niedermayer, calm, soft.

“I want to know what happened.” Angry. “Frankly, Sergeant, what I’ve found out about your past is making me wonder.”

“We can talk later.”

Valentine shook himself awake. “Who are you?” he asked the two men in the doorway.

The brunette gave him a cold look. “Who are you?” he snapped.

“He’s my friend. He’s welcome here.” Niedermayer’s voice dropped a little. Valentine blinked. “Agent Michaels, I am not ready to do my statement yet. Please leave.”

“Sergeant,” the other man sighed. Pale brown hair and a weathered face. “Just talk to us.”

“He said no,” Valentine said, standing up.

“You have no say here,” the dark haired agent snapped.

“Leave him alone.” Niedermayer pushed himself out of bed, weaving as he struggled to stand, amid cords and IVs.

“Peter, sit down!” Valentine reached over, grabbed the older man to support him. Niedermayer felt hot under his hand although he shook as if cold.

“What is going on here?”

Gravely and Backstrom pushed into the room. “Niedermayer, get to bed,” Backstrom ordered. Niedermayer turned to him and Valentine pushed him onto the bed. Niedermayer frowned but stayed down.

“Why are you here Michaels?” Gravely stalked to Valentine.

“We’re here to talk to Sergeant Niedermayer,” weathered face man said.

“Get out,” Backstrom said. “I have my statement and you’ll get his later. And you speak to him only with a representative with him.”

“I want to know how he was in fear for his life,” Michaels said.

Valentine felt Niedermayer shift and turned to him. Niedermayer’s eyes were closed and his fingers dug into the mattress. “Peter?”

“Just a spasm.” Niedermayer opened his eyes. Valentine looked at the others.

“Leave. Now.” He dropped his voice. “This is a hospital. Leave!” Gravely looked at him and then Niedermayer. She left, pointing for the others to proceed her. Backstrom paused.

“I’ll get the rep here.” He leaned down and muttered in Niedermayer’s ear. Then he left and Niedermayer settled back into bed, biting his lip. Valentine hit the call button. He laid a hand on Peter’s neck. Hot, quivering, and Peter sighed a little.

A nurse came in. “Yes?”

“He’s weak,” Valentine said.

“I’m fine. Sore.” The nurse took his wrist, frowned.

“You should be resting. I’ll get the doctor.”

“You better not get an infection,” Valentine said as the nurse left.

“I’m OK.”

“Huh.”

Backstrom restrained himself from hitting or yelling at anyone, at least until they got to the parking lot. “You stay away from my man,” he said.

“Your man has left a trail of dead behind him.”

“He’s forensics!”

“He’s crazy! He killed two men.”

“Who tried to murder him!”

“So he says.”

“He has two holes in him,” Gravely retorted. “And Lieutenant Backstrom witnessed the shooting.”

“Faulkner was going to kill both of us,” Backstrom said. “Niedermayer saved not only himself but me.”

“We worked on this for four months. And in less than a second, your Sergeant destroyed that.”

“Stop working with psychos!”

“You should talk. Your Niedermayer has one heck of a past.”

“He’s damn good at his job.”

“Good at killing.”

Gravely stepped forward. “Peter Niedermayer is the gentlest, kindest man I know. He never would hurt anyone unless he absolutely had to and even then, he’d try to talk first!”

“Is there a problem?” a cool voice asked. Everyone turned to find a lean, handsome man with blond hair and light eyes. “Hello, Lieutenant Backstrom.”

“Watts. Glad you could make it.” Backstrom gestured. “This is Agent Michaels of Homeland Security, some other agent, and Gravely.”

“Detective Gravely,” Gravely said. “Mark Watts of Salem PD?”

“My reputation precedes me. Yes.”

“Why is Salem PD here?” Michaels demanded.

“I’m here to visit a friend. You may wish to stop arguing in the parking lot.”

“I’m off to interview Tony, get him some protection from your crazy sergeant ,” Michaels said.

He left with the other agent and Gravely called Almond. Backstrom stepped over to Watts. “You here for Niedermayer?”

“Who else? You made national news. No names yet.”

“Great.”

Valentine sipped his coffee, breathed in its slight cinnamon aroma. Paquet leaned against the wall, watching him. “He’s all right?” she asked, rolling her coffee cup in her hands.

“I hope.” Valentine swallowed. “What is happening? Something is really weird between him and Backstrom. They’re all bromance right now.”

Paquet made a face. “I will forget you said that.” She took a long drink. “Backstrom told us not to let you know. I can say this. Daniel Nelson is no good for you.”

Valentine stared at her. “How--is Backstrom checking up on me?” he sputtered. “What the hell…?”

“Backstrom is not checking up on you,” Paquet stated.

“Then how do you know? My business is mine.”

“Backstrom has nothing to do with this,” Paquet said again. “Perhaps someone else does.”

Valentine fought the urge to scream. “What and who I do is my business,” he heatedly said. “And if you or Backstrom or whoever doesn’t like that, too bad…” He stopped as Paquet just gave him a queer little smile. “Paquet, what is going on?”

“Think about it.”

“Stop the secretive act.”

“I told you. Backstrom is not checking up on your lovers.” She smiled wider and finished her coffee.

Valentine looked at her. “Niedermayer? _Niedermayer_? Why?!” Paquet rolled her eyes.

“Why do you think?”

Valentine blinked. “I am really tired, Nadia.” She looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

“He is jealous.”

“Of Daniel? That’s--oh. _Oh._ ” Valentine covered his eyes for a moment. “Mr. ‘Sorry, heterosexual’ is interested in me? That makes no sense.”

Paquet sighed. “Come with me. You should hear something.”

Niedermayer leaned back in his bed. He’d been poked and prodded, sat up in a wheelchair, tested, dealt with his union rep and now, finally, was alone. Every joint seemed to grind, bone on bone, and even the painkillers didn’t mask all the ache. He drifted off in a nebulous dream state. He only awoke when a voice said “Figures. I get here and all you do is sleep.”

“Hi, Mark.” Niedermayer opened his eyes, a well of relief and affection filling him. Watts sat beside him.“Have you been here long?”

“Actually, I came in this morning but you were in tests. So I spent the day talking to old friends. Glad to see you’re awake.”  Mark leaned over, gave Peter a hug. “Damn, Peter. Try not to kill yourself.”

“I’m all right.”

“Stupid little hero.” Mark inhaled. “You are all over the news.”

“Why?”

“Crossbow bolts. And you still killed your attackers.”

Niedermayer nodded. “That was desperation and luck. And Backstrom.” Mark frowned. “Are our names being used?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. So, tell me something else. How’s Walter?” 

“Good.” Mark twitched. "He send his love, says get well." Silence. Mark suddenly grinned. “Sievers is going to love this.”

“Great. More books. And the serial killer law enforcement man will return.”

“That was the TV show Dexter.” Watts fiddled with a pen.

“You know Sievers' protagonist is a killer.”

“Yes, I’ve read his books. Dark hair, dark eyed, a forensics cop who likes to murder.” Mark shrugged. “It still makes me wonder what you two did in college, Herbert West.”

Niedermayer groaned . “Nothing! H.P. Lovecraft aside, Paul and I discussed a lot of things but we never killed anyone. Or anything. How I became the inspiration for his books, I really don't know.”

“You know, the FBI is hiring forensics.” Niedermayer gaped then shook his head. “Just listen, all right? You are fantastic at what you do, Peter. Take what’s going on now as a sign. Go somewhere else, where they’ve never heard of Hart, Backstrom or Bentley Bank.”

“Mark, no. I have friends here. People that accept me.”

“You can be doing so much better. Backstrom? Really? Your unit was made to be a laughing stock, kind of an X Files-loser unit. And you were sent there for no reason.”

“I like them.”

“Just think about it, ok? I mean, Paquet dumped you. You have no social life. You have no real ties here. They wouldn’t miss you.” Mark drummed his fingers on the chair. "And Hart is still around. I've told you that before. You should go somewhere."

"Hart doesn't bother me."

"He sent you to Backstrom."

“Enough.” Niedermayer’s voice hardened.

“Fine.”

“Peter?”

Valentine stalked in, casting a glare at the blond man. Then he paused and studied Watts closely.

“Val! Good to see you,” Niedermayer said, sitting up straighter. “This is Mark Watts. Mark, Gregory Valentine.”

“We’ve met,” Valentine purred. “A few years ago.” He smiled sharply.

Mark drew his brows together. “I don’t recall,” he said. "Sorry."

Niedermayer’s jaw muscles jerked. Valentine rather liked the anger in his face--it was far rarer than annoyance or frustration, so therefore interesting.. Although it was also rather scary. “I don’t recall the club’s name,” Valentine drawled. “But you--I remember you.”

Watts shook his head. “Sorry,” he repeated. He looked over at Niedermayer. “Take care, Peter. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He gingerly hugged Niedermayer.

“Thank you for coming, Mark.”

Watts left the room. “And I’ll be back with some non hospital food.” Valentine patted Niedermayer’s hand. “Rest.”

“I’m getting tired of hearing that,” Niedermayer mumbled.

“And this is only day 2.”

Niedermayer inhaled. “Are you--do you want--keep next month, the 12th, open.”

Valentine smiled. “We’ll see,” he said. “We’ll talk later.” He hurried after Watts. He caught up to him at the elevator. “You fucking liar, Watts.”

“I am hardly going to mention how I spent time with a whore,” Watts snapped. “It was one night. And I think you owe me $50 still.”

“I gave you your money’s worth.”

“You also stole my wallet.”

“That’s the risk you take.”

Watts curled his lip. “Go away.”

“And hey, nice bit about telling Peter he doesn’t have friends.”

“It certainly isn’t you.”

“You are such an ass. He’s not leaving us.”

“Us? Do you think you’re his teammate? And where are his so called friends? I didn’t see a single flower or card.”

“Because it's only been a day and they’re all at the station!”

“Whatever. Don’t get used to him. I will get him to transfer.”

“Please. We didn’t even know your name until yesterday. If you’re such a good friend where were you when he was transferred to Backstrom? Or when Paquet and he broke up? Or when…”

“I am the head of homicide. Peter and I email and talk regularly.”

“Huh. So you’re saying he never mentions me?”

Watts shrugged. “Why would he?”

Valentine tried not to let his hurt or anger show. “Guess neither of us is that important to him, then.”   _‘I like Valentine, yes.’ Maybe more important than I think. And he is jealous..._

“He’s not gay. And even if he was, he wouldn’t take up with you.”

“He just asked me out. Wrong again, Head of homicide.”

“Keep away from him,” Watts said furiously. “You are nothing like what he needs.”

“And you are?”

“I’m married.” Watts inhaled. “You may chat with him at art shows but that’s nothing.”

“Ha! He _does_ mention me.”

“Only that you and he see each other at book readings and art shows now and then.” Valentine bit back the wide grin threatening his face. “Don’t kid yourself,” Watts added. “Peter is a sucker for everyone with a sob story. Poor little street rat? I’m surprised he hasn’t given you his car.”

“There’s an idea.”

The elevator door opened and Backstrom and the team spilled out. “What are you two doing here?” Gravely asked, surprised.

“Visiting,” Valentine said.

“Keep your opportunistic brother away from Niedermayer,” Watts said.

“Why? What happened?” Backstrom looked at Valentine. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! I can keep Niedermayer from joining the FBI, however.”

“Never going to happen,” Backstrom scoffed.

“We’ll see, “ Watts said.

A nurse hurried their way. “Lieutenant Backstrom?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Niedermayer wanted to let you and everyone know that he is unavailable for the rest of the evening. His doctor has some more tests and therefore no more visitors today.”

“Pete said that?” Almond looked at Backstrom.

“That’s not Peter,” Paquet said.

“Agent Sanders,” Moto muttered. The Homeland Security agent walked towards them, looking at Backstrom curiously.

“Why are you here?” Backstrom asked.

“I needed to see the Sergeant. I asked him to explain this.” She handed Backstrom a piece of paper.

“You’re not supposed to be near him,” Backstrom said.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t say anything. But can you explain this?”

Gravely peered at the paper. "Who are these people?"

“What is this?” Backstrom sputtered. “His parents?”

“That is a list of people all associated with Niedermayer. All have something in common. They’re all dead.”

“And?” Backstrom scanned the list. “I know some of these names.”

“Bentley Bank?” Gravely exclaimed.

Backstrom glanced at the names again. “Niedermayer had nothing to--what is this crap? Do you think he had something to do with these deaths?”

“Perhaps you should ask your sergeant.”

“I will. Watts, come with us.” The blond man shrugged.

“What is Bentley Bank?” Paquet asked as everyone squeezed into the elevator save Sanders.

“Bank robbery. Bunch of cops got killed,” Valentine said. “Five or so years ago.”

“It wasn’t a robbery,” Almond said. “It was an ambush.”

“Watts, do you know what this is?” Gravely asked.

“It’s Peter’s story.”


	7. 7

“Niedermayer isn’t here,” Backstrom said. “I understand you and Valentine had a gay tiff over him…” Both Valentine and Watts bristled.

“Peter’s my friend--we never dated,’ Watts said. “And I’m married.”

“Really?” Moto asked in clear surprise. “You never seemed the type.”

“What does that mean?” Watts asked.

“You got more ass than a public toilet, that’s what it means.” Backstrom said. Gravely elbowed him. The elevator jolted to a stop, doors opening slowly. “If Niedermayer’s in trouble…”

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Almond suggested.

“Good idea. Valentine, get food. Meet us at home.” He tossed Valentine some cash.

“Your place?” Watts asked in clear dismay.

“It’s been cleaned,” Gravely said.

“Keep Valentine away from Peter and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Why do you care?” Paquet asked. “Did you want Peter and he rejected you?”

“Peter’s not gay. I am. Last time, we’re friends. Nothing ever happened.”

The team met up at the barge. Watts gingerly sat down while the others sorted themselves onto various chairs and seats. Moto handed out water and sodas and Valentine came in with bags of chinese food. “So if you and Niedermayer never dated, why so jealous?” Paquet asked, happily diving into the chow mein.

“I am _not_ jealous. Peter deserves someone who wants what he does--romance, monogamy.”

“You got married,” Backstrom said.

“Walter is special.”

“What’s he do?” Almond asked.

“Teaches middle school,” Watts said.

“Seriously? You picked up a teacher?” Moto asked with a snicker.

“He’s also into mixed martial arts and fights in tournaments occasionally.”

Valentine lifted an eyebrow. Backstrom tapped the list. Watts rolled his eyes. “First are his parents. They died when he was 16. Car crash. The next name--William Henry--that was Niedermayer’s best friend in college. Committed suicide but I am not sure how.”

“Slashed his throat,” Moto informed them.Everyone looked at him. “We were talking about slashed throats when we investigated the Swanson murder. He mentioned he had a friend who slashed his throat in college.”

“Dramatic,” Gravely said.

“George Niedermayer is his uncle,” Paquet said.

“He died of a heart attack,” Valentine said. “His aunt is in a facility.”

“And then these people. Why are the Bentley Bank people here?”

“What was Bentley Bank?” Paquet demanded.

“Backstrom was hunting a serial killer at the time,” Valentine said. “I remember that.”

“Quick setup, Nadia, “ Gravely started. “Bentley Bank is where three law enforcement died. They were lured on the call of a huge bank holdup. When they got to the bank, they parked, two semis suddenly moved and blocked off the street, and shooters stood on roofs on both sides of the street. They shot at the five police cars--fish in a barrel. Until a gas line exploded on a roof and killed four of the shooters.”

“What does Niedermayer have to do with this?” Almond asked. “Five years ago, he was doing forensics, yes, but he didn’t do it on this case.”

“He couldn’t,” Watts said in an odd tone. “Peter was in car #4.”

Backstrom slowly put down his General Taos. “Niedermayer was where?”

“Car 4.” Watts looked very uncomfortable. “Hart liked Niedermayer--Peter notices things, saved Hart's bacon a few times. So when the call went out about the robbery, Hart and Niedermayer responded.” Watts inhaled. “I have an idea of what happened but that’s it.”

“He didn’t tell you?” Backstrom asked.

“He told me some.” Watt took a few bites. “And that's all I'll say. Talk to him yourself but I bet he won't tell you. He only shared a bit with me and an old friend in the UK. Some man named Chandler."

“Niedermayer was never mentioned,” Gravely said. “Not in any gossip.”

“"Buried in the report and no one talked about it. Only three are still here, Hart, Franklin in evidence and Niedermayer," Watts said.

“Hart’s an idiot,” Backstrom said. He paused. “Is this why he was sent to my unit?”

“Yes.” Watts finished his drink. "He pissed off Hart somehow but I don't know why. Hart screwed him over."

“And this ties into Faulkner how?” Moto asked.

“They are dead,” Gravely said.

“Huh.” Backstrom resumed eating. Valentine looked at the list.

“Can’t believe they put his parents on that,” he muttered.

“I can’t believe they showed it to him,” Gravely said. "We need to know what happened."

"Good luck. He won't tell you. Like I said, I don't even know and Peter would tell me anything."

"Except the fact he's bisexual," Moto said.

"He's not," Watts snapped.

"Awful touchy for someone who says they're just friends," Gravely said.

Valentine stood up. “I’ll be back. I’m taking Niedermayer some supper.”

“No visitors,” Watts said.

“He didn’t mean me.” Valentine grabbed his jacket. “Don’t wait up.”

“You said you’d stop him,” Watts stated, staring at Backstrom.

“If Valentine hasn’t gotten him to bed yet, he won’t now.”

“Want to bet on that?” Valentine asked.

“He wants romance and you suck at that.” Valentine flipped him his middle finger and left. “How’d he find out?” Backstrom demanded.

“Maybe Peter asked him out,” Gravely said.

“‘He’s not gay!”

“He’s bi,” Backstrom said. “Stop worrying. Niedermayer and Valentine are totally different. Niedermayer is a lovey dovey and Valentine knows that love isn’t real.”

“You’re afraid Valentine may tie Peter here,” Gravely said.

“Peter…”

“Is a grown man,” Almond said. “Stop treating him like he’s a child. Valentine is a grown man as well. Let them live their own lives."

Watts looked frustrated. Paquet pushed some rangoons his way. “He’ll be fine.”

Valentine carried a bag of fresh, hot chinese food quickly through the halls. He pushed open Niedermayer’s closed door and stopped. Peter sat on the floor, legs outstretched, obviously meditating. He wore the bright pajamas Valentine had brought. He opened his eyes in surprise. “Val?”

“I said I’d bring food. Why are you out of bed?”

“I get to move, Valentine. I’m unhooked from the IVs and tubes. Except the painkiller."

“Come on and eat. Nice PJs.”

“My aunt got me these before she had to be hospitalized.” Niedermayer struggled to stand and Valentine pulled him to the chair. “Thank you. They just brought back memories.”

“OK.” Valentine felt a little bad. “Sorry about Sanders.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, she told us.” Valentine helped Niedermayer settle into a chair. “You never mentioned your college friend to me.”

“Who?”

“William.”

“Oh.” Niedermayer picked up a rangoon. “It was a while ago, Val. And not a happy memory. I now wonder if he had developed schizophrenia.” He ate while Valentine sat on the edge of the bed. “I wish I could have stopped him.”

“Were you there?”

“No, I was in the hospital. WIlliam had stabbed me, you see. He thought Cassie and I were lovers. We weren’t but poor William didn’t believe me.”

“Stabbed you?”

“In the back. Both figuratively and literally.” Niedermayer gave a soft sigh. “It was a hard time.”

“So Watts knew this.”

“Mark and I have been friends a long time.”

“When did he get so possessive?”

Niedermayer blinked, clearly puzzled. “He’s not.”

“You are on a lot of meds, aren’t you?” Valentine sipped his drink. “So, where are we going?”

“Huh?”

“The 12th. Where are you taking me?”

Niedermayer’s face lit up and he set his food aside. “There’s an art show and ball. It’s black tie. I think you’ll like it.”

“Biller ball? Those invites don’t come to lowly police peons or gorgeous rogues such as myself. Maybe as the hero you can swing an invite though.”

“I get invited yearly. I can’t always go but…”

“How?!”

“It’s a long story. I am old friends with Gwen Biller, however.”

“Hmm. Guess I’ll need a tux.” Valentine studied Niedermayer  “Seriously, what’s between you and Watts? He must have taken your rejection hard.”

Again, bafflement. “Mark said I rejected him?” Niedermayer asked.

Valentine felt comprehension dawn. “He rejected you,” he blurted. “Are you kidding?”

“It may seem odd but I’m not everyone’s cup of tea.”

"It makes no sense. He said you weren't gay. Or bi."

Niedermayer sighed. "Yeah, that's difficult for me as well. I mean--well, anyway. I'm me. As for Mark and I, I wanted a date. He didn't. He explained he couldn't give me what I wanted--a steady relationship or even a few nights out. It would ruin our friendship. He also thought it was because I had broken up with a woman seven months earlier. We were so close, I thought---Doesn't matter. We stayed friends but yes, he rejected me."

"He friendzoned you."

"Good friends, though."

Valentine chuckled. He leaned over, kissed Peter deeply. The older man leaned forward, grabbed him with his uninjured arm, pressing close. “I should go,” Val gasped after the kiss ended.

“Why?”

“Because you need rest and I need to make sure no one else gives you crap about Bentley Bank.”

Valentine knew Bentley would be touchy. He just didn’t expect it to be so raw. Niedermayer looked at him, shoulders tightening and lips thinning. “He told you?” he asked in a flat tone.

“Yes. What he could."

Niedermayer nodded, slowly exhaled. “OK.”

“It bothers you that bad?”

“I don’t like to talk about it. While I learned a lot, it’s still an experience that is painful.”

“I get that.”

Valentine leaned over, kissed Niedermayer once more. “See you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it.”


	8. 8

Backstrom woke with a gasp. The gurgle in his ears faded away, the gurgle he recognized from Niedermayer. Another nightmare. He stood, dressed. 4 am. He called a cab and headed for the hospital. Ridiculous, really, but he could peek in, make sure Niedermayer still breathed. The younger man was scheduled to be moved to a rehab facility in several days.

He spotted Watt’s small red car leaving and frowned. He paid the cabbie, found Niedermayer wide awake and exhausted looking, “So what did Watts do?”

Niedermayer actually stood up. “Why are you here sir?”

“Couldn’t sleep. Why are you up and what did Watts do?”

“I never said…”

“His car just left. Plus you are wringing your hands like an eight year girl.” Backstrom flopped in the chair. “Come on.”

Niedermayer pulled his hands apart and sat. His hair stuck up in tufts and dark shadows ringed his eyes.  A strong soap smell filled the room. “Mark is just worried,” Niedermayer said.

“Is he stilled pissed about Valentine? Or just mad that you came out?””

“What isn’t Mark telling you?” Niedermayer blurted. “I’m sorry. He’s worried.”

“Spill it, Niedermayer.”

“Mark just reminded me I’m not 17 anymore and I supposedly know myself.”

“What?”

“I’ve identified as heterosexual all my life.”

“You came out late. So?”

“I should have known, sir.” Niedermayer rubbed his eyes. “SInce I was 12, everyone assumed I was gay. I like women. How could I miss this?”

“What is Watts telling you? No one will think less of you. No one who matters, that is. People learn and change.”

“I know.”

“You liked other men.”

“Some. But he made good points. I’m not a child.”

“How well does he know you?” Backstrom grunted. He looked closely at his Sergeant. “You aren’t buying that crap? Christ, Niedermayer stop panicking. You may even get laid if you stop whining.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“Do you want to screw Valentine or what?”

Backstrom got the rare treat of seeing Niedermayer turn crimson and flustered. “I’d like to go out, yes,” Niedermayer stammered. Which Backstrom knew was code for ‘ _I want to screw him into the mattress’._ Or ‘ _I want him to screw me into the mattress’._ Backstrom eyed Niedermayer. Yeah, it was the latter. He’d bet on it.

“You’re turned on by him?”

“He’s attractive…” Red now.

“Then you’re bisexual. Case closed. Stop.” Niedermayer sighed.

“All right.”

“Hart.”

Niedermayer’s face smoothed and Backstrom saw him actually ‘armor’ himself, watching him pull himself together. “He’s not terribly fond of me,” Niedermayer admitted.

“He’s on the review committee. He better like you.”

“What review committee? When?”

“You shot people. Review committee is standard. And it is Friday.”

“It’s Monday, well, Tuesday now, sir. What if I’m not discharged?”

  
“Stop worrying. Tell me about this list Sanders has.”

Niedermayer quietly explained about his parents and his friend in college, basically repeating what Watts had said.  “I think William was ill,” he said. “I still wonder about him. What I missed, what could have been.”

“You were 19.”

“I know. “

“Bentley Bank?”

Niedermayer shut off like a faucet. The first time Backstrom had ever seen that from his chatty man. “You have reports, sir.” Hard. Stiff. Backstrom opened his mouth then stopped. Something nagged him and he reached out to brush his fingers along Niedermayer’s hand. Niedermayer flinched and Backstrom drew back. Niedermayer liked touches--like a cat, he often almost seemed to want petting and rubs. To draw back like this meant something horrible, something weird, had happened at that small bank or happened in the aftermath.

“Get some sleep.” Backstrom stood up. “It’ll be fine, Peter.”

Niedermayer’ eyes widened, pupils dilating, and Backstrom groaned as he realized what he’d said. He rarely called his team by their first names and never Niedermayer--even though he’d known the man for over four years and here he’d used Niedermayer’s twice in less than five days.

“Don’t worry.” Niedermayer said. “I’m sure you’re right.”

He reached out and Backstrom clumsily patted his hand. Then Backstrom sat down again, leaned back and closed his eyes. He only woke when Valentine shook him awake and offered him coffee. Niedermayer also drank a coffee and Valentine gave him a quick kiss before they left.

Niedermayer watched his friends leave, rolled his shoulders and bit his lip to keep from screaming. His left arm ached horribly but he could use it and he could walk with a cane and plenty of stops. He reached out for the phone.

As afternoon advanced, Niedermayer calmly waited for someone who owed him rather a lot of favors. Ron showed up on time, handed him a phone still in the box. “Car’s ready.” He also handed Niedermayer a black, sturdy cane.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime, Niedermayer. Shouldn’t you be be recuperating?”

“I have a job.”

“Well, call me if you need help.” Ron left.

Niedermayer dressed slowly, using his right hand. He gripped the cane, slipped his items in his duffle bag. Quietly he stepped out into the hall and limped to the door. Driving was hell but he got home. There he cleaned up, carefully washing around his wounds.  Then he dressed in one of his suits, carefully knotted his tie. He pulled some files and slipped them into an envelope. Then he drove to the bar where Hart always visited on Tuesdays.

Lieutenant Hart stepped out of Snuffy’s, walked towards his car. “Lieutenant?” a voice called.

Hart turned, fingers clenching for his gun. He stopped reaching as he saw Niedermayer. "What?"

"We need to talk, sir."

Hart stood under the light in the alley. The area smelled vaguely of garbage and urine but Niedermayer didn’t seem bothered. “Thought you were in the hospital,” Hart said.

“Rehab now. Outpatient.” The pale man studied Hart. “Sir, I’m here about the review.”

“You can’t talk to me, Niedermayer, not about that.”

“You need to drop out, sir. You know and I know that you can’t be impartial.”

Hart stiffened. ‘That’s a serious accusation, Sergeant.”

Niedermayer shook his head. “You aren’t able to look past Bentley Bank, sir. And you dislike Backstrom. It’s only fair that you withdraw.”

“Fat chance." Niedermayer sighed, handed Hart the large envelope. Hart flipped through papers.

His face paled. “You fucking son of a bitch.’

“I’m not happy either, sir, but I deserve a fair chance. So does Backstrom.”

“You go public and your career is ruined.”

Niedermayer shook his head again. “I don’t think so. But even if that were true, you’d go down before me.”

“Blackmail? That’s really illegal.”

“Not blackmail, sir. I’m just showing you uncovered evidence.”

“These are fakes.”

“Copies. I kept the originals. When I get notification you’re off the review team, i’ll get the originals to you.’

“How long have you been holding these? Five years?”

“I never needed to use them. I hadn’t planned on using them at all.”

Hart breathed harder. “Motherfucker. Just how do I explain it?”

“Tell the review team you are too personally associated with me to be objective. Or something else. It’s not difficult to think of a plausible reason.”

Niedermayer fell back under a violent punch to the face. He shook his head, staggered  as Hart planted a foot into his wounded leg. Healing flesh throbbed with pain. “Motherfucker!” Hart spun Niedermayer around, slammed him against the brick wall of the bar so hard Niedermayer saw pinwheels of white, fell to his knees. His cane clattered on the ground. “I knew you were a monster but I left you alone! If you plan on screwing me over, you can damn well blow me first!”

Through a pain wracked haze, Niedermayer heard a zipper, felt fingers knotting in his hair and dragging his head down and forward. He flailed out, grabbed Hart’s meaty wrist with his good right hand. His fingers shifted and he pressed.

Hart howled and released his hair. Niedermayer surged upwards to his feet, twisting his hand so Hart cried out in pain again. “You keep mistaking good nature for weakness,” Niedermayer said in a dark tone. “You always did. I’ll get you the originals and keep your secret.” He released Hart’s arm.

“What did you do?” Hart cradled his arm.

“It’ll heal. I just bruised the nerves.” Niedermayer picked up his cane, limped off. “Tomorrow morning. And pull up your pants.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	9. 9

Gary Winters had been tending bar for over four years. Tuesdays nights were usually slow and this one, no exception. So when the door opened and a suited, handsome man staggered in, he was more interested than anything else. Then he spied the blood and swelling eye. “I’ll call the police. Hold on.” He handed the man a towel, expertly wrapped up some ice, and walked to the phone. The man stopped him with a touch,

“No, no thank you. Really, it’s all right.”

“Hey, we may be gay but no one has the right to attack us.”

“I know, i just--please. I’m fine. Do you have cranberry juice?”

“I can get you something stronger.” The man shook his head. “Okay. One cranberry juice on the house.”

“I can pay…”

“Just ice the eye. Ex boyfriend?”

“No, just bad luck.”

Gary handed the man his juice. “I’m Gary. Do you need a ride? I can call someone for you.”

“My car isn’t far. I just needed a place to sit.” The man drank thirstily, looked longingly at the bottles of liquor. “Thank you.”

“Slow night, sit, rest,” Gary could spot more signs of an attack now--suit disarrayed, dusty hands, possible blood in the dark hair. “I can call 911.”

“Really, I’ll be fine.” The man looked around, picked up a flyer, glanced at the bar’s board. “Poetry contest?”

“Our trivia contest. You get three minutes to identify poets by quotes. 10 quotes. Pay $5 and win $150 if you get them all right. No google, no phones. Only one try.”

“Hmm.” The stranger pulled out a $5 and Gary handed him a sheet. As the man wrote, he pressed the ice against his eye with his left hand. The hand shook and the man placed the ice bag on his right leg.

Gary checked the clock and the man handed him the paper. “No way,” Gary said.

“Fairly obscure poets and poems. You made me think.  Someone has excellent taste.”

Gary checked the answers. “You are the first person to do this.”

The man smiled. “Thank you.”

“Look, we don’t really serve food here but you hungry? Sandwiches next door. I can slip over, get you something.” Gary handed him the money which the man pocketed but then the man gave him $30.00.

“If you could get me a sandwich, that’s plenty. I’ll eat, be on my way.”

“Deal.”

Gary hurried next door, ordered a sandwich and fries and hastily called his friend.

Valentine grabbed his phone, cursing as the rain fell harder. “Yeah?”

“Got one, Valentine.”

“What?”

“A winner. For your contest.”

“Gary? What, wait, seriously?”

“You wanted to know. He’s cute--banged up as hell but serious potential.”

“I’m busy--shit, I’ll pop in. I’m a block away.”

Valentine pulled up at the quiet bar, cursing under his breath. Niedermayer’s sudden leaving of the hospital with only a brief note saying he was fine had sent all the team and Valentine into the night. Valentine hoped he could grab a fast sandwich, say hi to Gary and leave. But his interest was piqued. No one had guessed  all his quotes before. Certainly not in the time frame. And that someone now had was intriguing.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of a familiar figure. “Peter?”

  
Niedermayer closed his eyes. This wasn’t happening. He knew this was a gay bar but it had been close to Snuffy’s and he couldn’t walk anymore. He’d left his car several blocks away and knew, if he rested a moment and ate something, he’d be all right. Surely the gods wouldn’t be so cruel to have Valentine walk in. Not when he looked bruised and battered and decidely unattractive.

“Peter, jesus, what th---” Valentine smacked Niedermayer’s head then stared at the bloodstain on his hand. “What happened?”

“Hello, Val. I am just sitting down.” Niedermayer gave Valentine a weak smile.

“You know him?” Gary asked.

“My friend,” Valentine said. “Thanks, Gary. I’ll get him home.”

“My car is nearby,” Niedermayer meekly said.

“Forget that. Come on.”

Niedermayer looked at his sandwich. “Can I finish?”

Valentine sipped a soda while Niedermayer ate. He brushed questioning fingers over the swollen eye and Niedermayer looked embarrassed. Silently Niedermayer finished, grabbed his cane, and Valentine helped him. At Valentine’s car, Valentine pushed Niedermayer into the passenger’s seat and got behind the wheel.

Niedermayer inhaled, “It’s not that ba…”

“Shut. Up. Wait until we’re at your place.”

Niedermayer nodded, feeling pain radiate from his face. At his place, he followed Valentine to his apartment, opened the door and let in the tsumani he wasn’t sure he’d survive.

“Who?” Valentine snapped.

“Hart,” Niedermayer automatically replied. “Are you hungry?”

“Hart? Lieutenant Hart, your old boss? And, just sit down. Why?”

“Valentine, it doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does, damn it! You and Nadia broke up, in part, because she hid some much from you.”

“She loves Cole. A very good reason to break up. And it was mutual."

“And her secrets upset you.”

“Yes,” Niedermayer admitted.

Valentine’s eyes seemed to spark. “Then talk.” Niedermayer gave a long sigh that rippled through him. He limped to his pantry and began pulling out boxes and cans, placing them on the table. “I am not hungry!”

“Give me a moment, Valentine.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I have a feeling if I don’t, you plan on leaving.”

“Absolutely. Now talk.”

Niedermayer blinked. “You sound like your brother.” He set out several cracker boxes, five candy bars, placed cookies on two cracker boxes, set licorice boxes on each side of the boxes. “See anything?”

“Yes, Mr. Healthy has a ton of junk food. What is this?”

“This is Bentley Bank.” Niedermayer looked at Valentine and the befuddled man merely gazed at him trustingly. “I’ve never told anyone this entire story,” Peter said in a choked tone. “Not Mark. No one. Not even Joseph and he would understand. I think.”

“Okay.” Valentine gingerly touched Peter's arm.

“I’m telling you that because I am taking a huge risk. You won’t see me that same, Val.”

“Why? Will you change colors?” Valentine cracked. He regretted it as Niedermayer didn’t smile, just flinched. “Sorry.”

“Sit. Please.”

Valentine sat, hastily texted Backstrom he’d found Peter, and then turned off his phone.

The bright sun made the blood glitter like gems. Niedermayer pressed against the concrete of the street, cringing as another barrage of bullets rattled near them. Hart panted beside him, making odd, gasping sounds. The car above them creaked as bullets fell around them, sharp, deadly metal hail. He felt the flare gun he’d pulled from the trunk press against his thigh. Under the car behind them, he spotted Franklin and Matthews. “Sir?” he said. Hart blinked and looked at him. “What should we do?”

“What the fuck, Niedermayer? We’re trapped! We hold on until help arrives.”

“Sir, Rogers is down and I believe Walsh is dead. We can’t stay here.” Niedermayer winced as Matthews shot at nothing. Reese and Barnes had, at least, gotten to the doorway of the store behind them. Niedermayer heard glass shatter above his head. He heard footsteps and saw Baker join Reece and Barnes. Hart hissed and then squirmed out from under the car and bolted for the doorway. Matthews and Franklin followed. Niedermayer rolled and ran, hunching in the doorway with the others. Now the dead could easily be spotted--Rogers hadn’t even made it out of his unit and Walsh laid in a wide pool of blood. Cook laid in a curled ball, crying out now and then. Bullets riddled the cars and street. The shooters, some on Bentley Bank across the street, others on the roof above them, obviously had a lot of ammunition.

They huddled together for long minutes, air warm and humid between them all. “The shooters are on both roof tops,” Matthews said finally. “We are fish in a barrel here.”

Niedermayer glanced at Hart and his colleagues. Then he looked at the bank. A small building, it resembled others in the area. Niedermayer looked again at his boss. “Sir! I have an idea.”

“Do it, “ Matthews ordered. "Do anything." Everyone cowered as concrete chips sprayed them, tearing into clothes and flesh.

“Worst case, it’ll do nothing. Best case, it’s a distraction and we can move.”

“What?” Hart asked.

“I get a flare on the roof, start a fire. I hope it won’t hurt anyone but we may get some breathing space. There's a gas line there--the shooters should move away."

“You can’t shoot,” Reece said.

“I’m all right,” Niedermayer said.

Franklin suddenly screamed and blood spilled from his leg. Niedermayer hurriedly wrapped his tie around it and looked at Matthews and Baker, the only two who seemed coherent. “Good luck,” Baker shouted as more bullets tore up the pavement. Niedermayer rolled back to the cars and scurried to a truck, hoping the larger vehicle would give him some cover. Then he breathed, tried to focus on only what he planned.

He scrambled inside the vehicle, shot, dropped the flare gun,hunched low in the cab as the people on the the roof nearest him shot at him. He drew his gun and fired. Then thunder rumbled and Niedermayer heard shrieking. He dared a look up as black, oily smoke rolled from the bank’s roof. Niedermayer wiggled back outside, darted to an alley where Hart and Baker now stood, staring as an orange plume lit the sky. Niedermayer’s heart thudded as a figure leaped from the roof, outlined in flame. It smashed against the concrete and Niedermayer watched the shooter crumple.

“My God, Niedermayer, what have you done?” Hart whispered. Niedermayer glanced at his superior, saw horror in every line of his face.

“It was a risk,” Niedermayer said, grabbed Reece as the man hurried over. Niedermayer helped get the others, dared to do a check on Cook. The thin man laid in his own blood and Niedermayer knew he was dead. He tugged out Cook’s gun and returned, nervously eyeballing the building beside them.

The screaming of sirens and whuffing of a helicopter echoed over even the gunfire. Reece tapped Niedermayer’s shoulder. “They have the shooters pinned. Let’s go.”

Niedermayer zigzagged across the street, hearing Matthews behind him. The smell of gas now drifted to him and he knelt near the charred shooter. There was no hope, he knew that, and as the semis were dragged away, he shoved open the bank door, hurrying to escort out anyone inside. He found the bank personnel locked in the vault and they fled. On the roof, four bodies burned and he stayed back as firefighters battled. “You couldn’t have known,” Matthews said and Niedermayer heard retching behind him. He spotted Hart.

“I knew there was a gas line. I hoped it would only be a small flame.”

“You knew this could happen?” Hart said.

Niedermayer felt gazes on him. “Yes, sir. I hoped no one would be hurt but I had to get us out of the shooting zone. It distracted, allowed us to move from the doorway.” He inhaled. "I did warn you."

“My god.” Hart shook his head.

“It could have been us, sir.” Matthews looked around the char. “What an unholy mess.” He edged away from Niedermayer. “Hell of a shot.”

“Lucky.”

“Not for them.”

Niedermayer knew there would be media and reports and administrative leave. Psychological tests, reviews, everything. He dealt with that easily--what he couldn’t deal with was the strange looks and odd treatment. Everyone tiptoed around him, even Hart. The man who he’d helped so often shunned him until he demanded Niedermayer rewrite his report, change it so it read a stray bullet set the roof afire when it tore through the gas line. “But I did it, sir,” Niedermayer said. “I’m accountable for my actions and really, I did nothing wrong.”

“You set four people afire like marshmallows. Let me explain this, Niedermayer. No one wants you around. You’re a monster, some unnatural, freak psychopath that somehow passed the tests to become a police officer.”

Hard punch to the chest. _Monster? But he'd saved lives, risked his own..._ “Sir, I’m not…”

“There’s not an ounce of remorse in you. You don’t feel anything. Look, just do your report as you’re told. Help out forensics for awhile. Then, in two months, report to Backstrom’s new team.”

“ _What_? Sir, I have,,,”

“Just do it, Niedermayer!”

 

Valentine stared at his friend. Niedermayer looked at him and turned away, limping to his refrigerator. “And?” Valentine prompted.

“I knew I was outnumbered. I never told Mark all what happened but he knew something was wrong. He did convince me that it would be easier to go along because several people needed Hart’s approval to get things.”

“So…?”

Niedermayer’s back stiffened. “Val, I don’t--telling you this means I could lose one of my dear friends.”

“Watts would stop being your friend?”

“I don’t mean _Mark_.” Niedermayer turned, studied Valentine with a weariness and worry Valentine had never seen. He looked defeated, broken in ways that Valentine couldn't describe. “Valentine, do you get it? I don’t regret what I did. I regret and sorrow over the loss of life, I am sorry it had to be done but I am not sorry I did it. I meditated on it, reran the scenario over in my mind thousands of time. I still see no other way out. I took the path I saw the best outcome for. That’s what the others see--I don’t regret what I did. I saw the burned bodies, heard them scream, and if I was back there, I’d most likely make the same choice.” Valentine tilted his head. He reached out, ran his fingers over Niedermayer’s face, avoiding the bruised eye. “Do you remember when you took that rifle, shot at the man because your brother would not?” Niedermayer asked softly.

“Sure. Thankfully I didn’t hit him.”

“Backstrom couldn’t see himself shooting that man, drug dealer or not, not like that.”

“I know.”

“Val, I knew and planned that attack. I knew that flare could ignite the gas. I planned on it. I wanted to save my colleagues. I didn’t want to take lives but I did. Those deaths are mine and I accept that.”

Valentine kissed him. Niedermayer jerked, wrapped his arms reflexively around him. “I’m here,” Valentine said. And Niedermayer’s heart  ached and he pushed back the yearning because Valentine would never know how much those words mean.

“I killed four people that day. I killed two more less than a week ago. Again, I sorrow over the loss of life but I don’t regret what I did.” Niedermayer rested his head on Valentine’s shoulder, drinking in the other man’s strength and sheer presence. “I don’t expect people to understand me completely--we are all different--but  those people I saved--none could see me the same. None even came near me anymore.”

_“From childhood’s hour I have not been_

_As others were—I have not seen_

_As others saw—I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring—_

_From the same source I have not taken_

_My sorrow—I could not awaken_

_My heart to joy at the same tone—_

_And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— …”*_

Niedermayer blinked and a tiny smile pulled at his lips. “Go sit,” Valentine said. “I’ll make some tea.” Niedermayer hobbled to his sofa and Valentine put the kettle on. He made tea and put the junk food away, When he returned to Niedermayer, the older man took his cup with a slightly shaky hand and Valentine noted the left arm hung almost uselessly. “You hurt like a bitch.”

“I’m sore, yes. Hart injured my leg. My arm is just strained."

“And what was that about?” Valentine sat next to him and Niedermayer quivered. He didn’t rip open his heart or past like this--it hurt too much. He lolled his head back against the cushion.

“You want to know everything, don’t you? I had some lab tests done from the scene--I am forensics--done at an independent lab. They confirmed what I said--one of the shooter and part of the roof had chemicals from my flare. And the shooter obviously had tried to grab the flare because his hand still had flare chemicals on it even though he was very burned. The results came to me alone and I kept them to myself. This was weeks after the incident. Bentley Bank was being forgotten about as we had several unsolved murders. I talked to Hart tonight, explained that he shouldn’t be on my review team.” Peter touched his eye. "He wasn't happy."

Valentine choked. “You blackmailed him?” Was that a little bit of awed respect in Valentine’s face? Peter didn’t know.

“No, I simply told him that I’d found new evidence. Hart profited from Bentley--got his promotion, etc. He won’t risk that.”

Valentine nodded and sipped his tea. He watched Peter drink, raised an eyebrow. “Gary said you knew all my poems.”

Niedermayer nodded. “You made up that quiz? Impressive.”

“And you knew the answers. More impressive.” Peter smiled. He set down his cup, rubbed his head. “Come on,” Valentine ordered. “To bed.”

“I so wanted something far more romantic,” Peter muttered.

“I told you, I’m not going anywhere.”

He helped Niedermayer to the bathroom. Niedermayer took his painkillers, brushed his teeth. After he prepared for bed, he oped the door, tossed Valentine a small bag. Valentine unzipped it and smirked. Unopened toothbrush, toothpaste, more but he’d bet his (non existent) shorts that Peter had forgotten there was also lube and condoms in the bag. “Planning something special, Sergeant?” he asked.

Niedermayer turned crimson as he remembered what was in the bag. “I’ll be in bed. Join me when you want,” he muttered.

Valentine actually helped him strip off his suit, ran tender hands over a vastly aching body. Niedermayer laid on his side, Valentine curled around him. Within moments, Peter slept, fingers entwined with Valentine’s. Valentine laid awake for a bit, gingerly touching Peter’s skin. He felt incredibly warm and alive under his hands.  _Monster._ What would that have done to one of the kindest people he knew?

When he woke up, Niedermayer draped around and over him. Valentine yawned, surprised to see the sun spilling through the curtains. “Peter,” he mumbled.

“Em?”

“Get up.”

Peter grumbled and merely snuggled closer. Lips pressed on the back of Valentine’s neck. Then Peter gave a sharp intake as he twisted. “Hurt, don’t you?” Valentine smugly said. “Get up. You can get your ass back in the hospital.”

“I have a doctor,” Peter rumbled against his skin.

“Come on.”

They each showered, Niedermayer dressing in loose exercise clothes. He moved stiffly, so stiffly Valentine ached for him. The swelling in his face had gone down but the bruising was now vivid blue black. Valentine rolled his eyes as Niedermayer insisted on making him breakfast and they ate. “Great rolls,” Valentine said.

“Thank you.”

“You made them, didn’t you?” Niedermayer smiled. “Peter, what will you tell Backstrom?”

NIedermayer picked at his eggs, staring at the plate. “I don’t know.”

The ringing of a phone. Niedermayer grabbed a shiny, new phone, spoke quickly and in a low tone. Sharp words and very concise “Yes. No. This morning. A few hours.” Peter turned off the phone and said “Same phone number.”

“Is my number in it?”

“Of course.”

“And…”

“That was Hart. He withdrew from the review committee.” Niedermayer stood, limped to the dishwasher after scraping his plate into the trash.

“You’re actually not giving him the originals, are you?”

“I gave my word, Val.” Niedermayer turned and smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“You are way too trusting.” Valentine handed Niedermayer his cane. He hesitated. “You wouldn’t do this to Backstrom, would you?”

Niedermayer’s face clouded, filled with sadness. “No.” 

“Peter?”

“I told you, you wouldn’t see me the same.Would you have asked me this a week ago?” Valentine mentally cursed. Peter turned away and grabbed his keys from the desk. “If you could drop me off by my car, I’d appreciate it.”

“Stop it.” Valentine spit out the words, determined to make the man understand. “Don’t blame me for protecting Backstrom. Yes, I see you a little different. It doesn’t mean bad! Super sweet New Ager can become a badass. That’s pretty damn sexy.” Peter actually blushed. “You do realize where this is heading right?” Valentine asked, gesturing between them.

“I’m not a virgin, Val.” Niedermayer started to walk to the door. “Can I call you Gregory? Or Greg?”

“Not if you want to get laid.”

 

 

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from the poem 'Alone" by Edgar Allen Poe.


	10. 10

Backstrom and Gravely bent their heads together over paperwork. “So why did Hart drop off the committee?” Gravely asked.

“All I was told was it was for personal reasons.” Backstrom tapped a pen on the desk. “Why do _I_ have all this paperwork?”

“Because you are on desk duty, partner. Until the review is done.”

“This sucks.”

Gravely grinned. She normally did most of the paperwork and the chance to escape it was intoxicating.  Backstrom scowled at her glee and then demanded “Where is he?” as Valentine strolled in.

“I dropped him off at Deb’s office.” Valentine looked amused and a little bit smug.

“How is he?” Gravely asked.

“Did you tell him I’m going to strangle him?” Backstrom added.

“Hurting bad. “ Valentine ignored Backstrom, focused on Gravely.

“Did he tell you why he’s behaving like a moron?” Gravely asked.

Valentine shifted weight and Backstrom alerted like a wolf catching the scent of fresh prey. “He told you,” he said. “He told you about Bentley Bank.” He gave his little brother a rather awed look.

“What?” Gravely sputtered. “Are you joking?”

“He likes me,” Valentine said.

“Tell us.” Backstrom leaned forward.

Valentine frowned, closed the door. “I am not telling you everything. I barely got permission to tell you this much.”

“Valentine…” Backstrom glowered.

“Just listen. I can tell you a few things.” Valentine sat down. “Bentley Bank’s fire was started by a flare, not a bullet.”

“A flare?” Gravely grabbed a report off Backstrom’s desk. “Really?”

“And?” Backstrom prompted.

“That fire was actually planned, something to save the cops.”

Gravely and Backstrom exchanged looks. “Niedermayer?” Gravely asked skeptically.

“Not possible,” Backstrom said. Valentine didn’t look at him. Backstrom stood up. “You’re joking. Holy--Paquet!” He yanked open the door.

Paquet appeared, kissed Valentine on the cheek. “What do you want, Backstrom?”

“We have all the records on Bentley Bank, right?”

“Yes. Almond has talked to Franklin. Franklin has said nothing except what is on the report.”

“Is Hart around?” Valentine asked.

“He’s at the other precinct. Why?’ Gravely asked.

“Don’t freak when you see Niedermayer.”

“Why?” Paquet asked.

“You’ll see.”

“Gravely, take me to Deb’s.”

“You’re still doing reports,” Gravely said, grabbing her jacket.

“Great. Drop me off at Fifth and Elm.” Valentine hopped up.

“You have a car,” Backstrom said.

“I’m getting Peter’s. He left it at a bar last night.”

“He left the hospital to go drinking?” Gravely asked incredulously.

“Sounds like you used to be, boss,” Moto said as he neared.

“Get working on that list, Moto.”

“Not drinking. He had something to do.” Valentine tailed Gravely as the redhead led Backstrom and him to the car.

“Like what? What was so important he went AWOL?"

“Let him tell you. So who is replacing Hart on the review team?” Valentine slid into the back seat. Gravely and Backstrom both turned to each other then him.

“Who said anything about Hart being replaced?” Gravely asked.

“Peter told me.”

“And who told him?” Backstrom stared at Valentine.

“Hart, I guess.” Valentine tried to be causal.

“And why would Hart talk to Niedermayer?” Gravely started the car.

“Did Niedermayer meet up with Hart?” Valentine shrugged. “I’m going to kill him,” Backstrom threatened. “Saving my life or not.”

“Why? What could--He’s a dead man,” Gravely muttered. She drove to where Valentine instructed, muttering to herself.

“Thanks. I’ll drop it off at the station.” He paused.” Don’t hurt him. And I mean that.”

Deb’s office made Backstrom twitch and Gravely pace. Niedermayer clopped out with a black cane, sounding and somewhat looking like an old war horse, raspy, lame, and ever so sore. He stopped dead when he spotted them, licked his lips, gave a smile as he straightened his shoulders. “Lieutenant, detective. Why are you here?”

“A fight? Really?” Gravely stalked to Niedermayer, glared at him. He looked away.

“It’s only a black eye. In a day or so, it’ll be fine.”

“Idiot! Get in the car.”

“I’m waiting for a friend.”

“He’s at the station,” Backstrom said, rather enjoying Gravely taking the lead. She nudged Niedermayer. He limped forward, settled into the car with pressed lips. “Valentine said you were hurt. He wasn’t kidding.”

“Sore.”

“So Hart punched you.” Gravely settled behind the wheel, gave Niedermayer a death stare.

“We disagreed.” Backstrom rolled his eyes.

“Stop messing around. How did you convince him to drop off the review?” Gravely asked.

“I told him he was not impartial about myself or Lieutenant Backstrom.”

“For christ’s sake. What did you blackmail him with?” Backstrom demanded.

“I didn’t blackmail anyone. And yes, I do know Valentine told you about Bentley Bank.”

“Stop getting offended,” Gravely said. “You’re the one with the secrets. Valentine told us only about a flare gun.”

Relief filled the car as Niedermayer leaned back. Backstrom dove in. “So what isn’t Valentine telling us?”

“He told you all that’s important.”

“Let us be the judge of that.” Niedermayer shut off again, like he did before. Backstrom pinched his nose. “What the hell went on, Niedermayer?” He tried to use his patient voice but Niedermayer merely gave a shrug of his good shoulder.

“Niedermayer?” Gravely echoed Backstrom. “What happened?”

“You know.”

“For god’s sake, talk to us! We’re teammates, damn it!”

“Yes, I was there. We survived. There’s nothing more to say.”

“There is if what happened at Bentley didn’t go down like Hart said. That fire killed four people. If it wasn’t an accident, we should know why.”

“You do. To save the law enforcement there.”

“I get that but how? What exactly went on? And how are you involved? And, not to mention, how does this tie into this current shooting? Michaels sees you as some killing monster, Niedermayer.”

Niedermayer stopped breathing for a few moments. “Pull over,” he said.

“What?” Gravely said.

“Pull over,” Niedermayer said calmly.

Backstrom nodded and Gravely pulled the car to the curb. Niedermayer opened the door and stumbled out.  “Niedermayer!!” Gravely yelled.

Niedermayer hobbled off. Backstrom and Gravely both hurried after him. Gravely grasped Niedermayer’s arm.  “What is it?” Gravely asked,

“I’m going home, thank you,”

Backstrom grunted. He studied Niedermayer’s face. Something pushed at him. He'd seen panic and despair before and this seemed close. “Come on, we’ll take you home.”

“I can walk.”

“Don’t be an ass.” Backstrom brusquely gripped Niedermayer’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

He shook his head at Gravely and the redhead sighed. She drove them to Niedermayer’s apartment. Backstrom helped Niedermayer to his door. “Get some sleep,” Backstrom ordered.  Gravely turned to Backstrom and he gestured to the car. They got in the car. “We’re attacking the wrong front,” Backstrom said. “He’s too closed.”

“That’s your specialty,” Gravely said.

“For suspects, Gravely. Not him.” Backstrom frowned. “And I watched him in the car. He just deflected everything.”

“So push on Valentine?”

“And Watts. Moto is digging around. And Franklin.” He studied Gravely. “Franklin thinks you’re good looking.”

“No.” Gravely stared at him.

“I’m not saying screw him, I’m just saying…”

“No. Not unless you bat your eyes at Lorena in traffic.”

‘Don’t be revolting. She’s hideous and smells like trash.”

“And Franklin is better?”

“OK, fine.”

Valentine sipped his cappuccino, rattling the keys as he leaned on Niedermayer’s car. “I know he let you drive his car,” Watts said irritably.

“And have a key to his place,”

Watts swung around. “Why in the hell are you around him?” he demanded. “He’s  romantic, a lover while you just screw.”

“You’re one to talk. You certainly weren’t shy about banging everyone you could.”

“I didn’t screw Peter.

“Your loss.”

“If you cared at all, you’d never touch him,” Watts snapped. “I am so sick of people using him as a crutch. Between Backstrom belittling him and you and Paquet treating him as disposable, it’s a wonder he’s even able to function any more.”

“Fuck you. You don’t know anything about what we share.”

“Share? What are you giving him?”

“Friendship. Someone to talk to. And, hey, he trusts me.”

“Then Peter is an idiot like your brother says.” Watts shoved his hands in his pockets. “Do you know anything about him? He took two crossbow bolts for a man who basically despises him. What would he do for someone he loves? Have you even thought about that?”

“First, Backstrom doesn’t despise him. He just likes to be an ass. Second, what Peter will do isn’t your business. You aren’t with him. ‘Why don’t you go back to cheating on your husband?” Valentine suggested. “I did the math. You and I got together one year after you were married.”

“It was a rough patch. I don’t need to justify myself to anyone, least of all you.” He turned as Moto and Paquet appeared.

“We can hear you yelling,” Paquet said.

“Backstrom is on his way with Niedermayer,” Moto said.

“Good.” Watts stalked inside.

“He really dislikes you.” Paquet hugged Valentine quickly.

“He’s an ass. I’ll take Peter’s car back.”

 At the station, Moto, Almond, and Paquet practically glowed with excitement. A hard looking Mark Watts leaned against Backstrom’s desk. “Keep your damn brother away from Niedermayer,” he ordered. “Where is Peter?”

“I’m not his keeper and Niedermayer is a grown ass man supposedly.” Backstrom shot back. “Let it go, Watts.”

“What do you know about Bentley?” Gravely asked.

“I’ve told you.”

“You are useless.” Backstrom went to his desk. “Hart’s off the review.”

“I know. Daniels will be all right. She’s smart.”

“Why are you still here? Don’t you have a job?” Backstrom gestured his team into the office.

“I was worried. Peter should be in the hospital.”

“He saw a doctor,” Gravely said.

“Fine.”

“Leave Valentine alone, Watts.” Backstrom’s voice, low and rumbling, held threat.

“Relax. I won’t touch your brother.”

Watts left with a glare and Backstrom turned expectantly to his team.

“Close the door. What is going on?”

“Watts and Valentine had an argument in the parking lot,” Paquet said.

“What else is new?” Gravely asked.

Moto stepped forward, gave Backstrom a flashdrive. “Play it. It’s from a security camera outside Snuffy’s.”

The team crowded around. “He didn’t show us,” Paquet explained. The video, a bit grainy, showed Hart and Niedermayer in an alley. Niedermayer handed Hart an envelope and Hart, obviously furious, punched him hard. He kicked the injured leg and Backstrom grumbled in his throat. Gravely snarled, muttering curses that nearly erupted to a roar as Niedermayer fell and Hart slammed him against the wall, grabbed his hair, unzipping his pants. And then Niedermayer grabbed Hart’s arm. Hart opened his mouth in a shriek and NIedermayer stood up as Hart’s knees buckled.

Backstrom dearly wished for sound as Niedermayer said something and then hobbled off. Gravely looked at Backstrom, eyes wide. “He put Hart on his knees.” Almond said. “Unexpected.” All the team exchanged shocked looks.

“Hart came in today with a sprained arm,” Moto said.

“Niedermayer knows something,” ALmond said.

“There was a flare gun used,” Gravely said. “And Niedermayer shot it. To set the fire.”

“He can shoot?” Moto asked.

“I leaned on Franklin but no dice,” Almond reported. “I’ve checked around but no one really knows much about Bentley save Niedermayer, Hart, and Franklin. All the others are dead or in new jobs.”

“I’ll talk to Hart,” Backstrom said.

“Why aren’t you talking to Peter?” Paquet asked.

“Because Niedermayer is talking to anyone but Valentine about what happened and now Valentine won’t talk. It’s some weird gay bonding thing.” Backstrom grabbed his jacket.

“Think Hart will talk?” Moto asked.

“He assaulted a fellow officer.” Backstrom gave a sharp smile.

“Who most likely tried to blackmail him,” Almond said.

“He tried to sexually assault him,” Gravely snapped. “If he won’t talk to Backstrom, I’ll talk to him.” Everyone nervously moved a few steps away. Gravely was _vicious_ when she wanted to be.

“I’ll get him to talk,” Backstrom said. “And leave Niedermayer stew a bit. He needs to be alone. He hates that.”


	11. 11

At his apartment, Niedermayer stared out the window, mind whirling. _Monster._ He poured a tall drink, swallowed the Scotch in one long swallow without tasting a drop, then poured another.

 _Would they react the same? I mean, I saved Backstrom. But I saved others, too, and it didn’t matter. They’re different, we’re a team. We work together._ He swallowed mechanically.   _Stop fretting. Worry does nothing._ He whispered a few lines of a poem, gripped his glass so tightly he was sure it’d crack. He lifted the glass, trembling with frustration, rage, and so many other emotions. He made as if to throw it, glory in the breaking, but controlled himself, settling the glass down and inhaling. He pressed his forehead against the window, breathed deeply, absorbed the coolness.

Valentine watched silently as the man in front of him lifted a glass, clearly intending to throw it but  then, slowly, painfully, carefully setting the glass down. Muscles jerked under his shirt and Valentine thought _It would have been better for him to throw it._ The control or the need to control was almost foreign to Valentine. He allowed himself to feel freely and easily. Since Backstrom did as well, he assumed it ran in their family. Then again, he’d never seen Niedermayer angry--frustrated, yes, perhaps annoyed, but the steely resolve to not get angry or overwhelmed made Valentine wonder if Peter ever let go. He ached physically for the man tearing himself apart in front of him. Peter leaned against the window, whispered, and then opened his eyes to gaze at Valentine’s reflection in the window.

Wide dark eyes met even wider, darker eyes. Valentine walked to him, embraced him wordlessly. Niedermayer clenched him fiercely, almost clinging and very slowly let go. “What were you saying?” Valentine asked. Niedermayer smiled oddly.

 

> "Be to her, Persephone,  
>  All the things I might not be:  
>  Take her head upon your knee.  
>  She that was so proud and wild,  
>  Flippant, arrogant and free,  
>  She that had no need of me,  
>  Is a little lonely child  
>  Lost in Hell,—Persephone,  
>  Take her head upon your knee:  
>  Say to her, "My dear, my dear,  
>  It is not so dreadful here."

  
"Edna St. Vincent Millay."

Niedermayer nodded. “I’ve always liked it. It’s saddening in so many ways.” He paused. For a happy man who was continually optimistic, Peter loved sad, poinquent things.  ... _He that was so proud and wild, flippant, arrogant and free, He that had no need of me..._ "I understand it. _" More than I ever did before._

Valentine pursed his lips. “Come sit with me.”

They sat on Niedermayer’s sofa and Valentine gingerly began rubbing Niedermayer’s left arm. They’d sat together in any number of places and talked--art shows, odd curio places that Niedermayer strangely seemed drawn to, even musty bookstores and coffee shops where Valentine discovered Niedermayer had a serious coffee and tea addiction. Frothy or black, streaming hot or iced, Niedermayer craved coffee. Tea was hot, always. Yet this seemed so much more intimate. “Painkillers not working?”

“Painkillers don’t stop my mind from working.” Again, Valentine saw the hand setting down a glass.

“All right.”

“I know the Lieutenant and Gravely must be pushing on you. Thank you for not telling.”

“I said I wouldn’t.” Valentine tapped Niedermayer’s arm. “Strip.”

“Can we at least wait until I’m not hurting?” Niedermayer asked, smiling.

“Come on, I’ll rub your shoulders.”

Niedermayer carefully took off his shirt, allowing Valentine access to the muscled shoulders. Valentine licked his lips, ran his hand down the lean back. Ridged muscles relaxed under his careful touch and Niedermayer closed his eyes. Valentine touched the crisp, fresh bandage. “You work out.”

“Yoga. Some resistance training. And I run.” Niedermayer opened one eye. “You?”

“Plenty of running. I get chased a lot.”

“You _are_ attractive.”

“You needn’t flatter me to get in my pants. Or out of them.” He raised an eyebrow and Niedermayer laughed gently.

“Not flattery if it’s true.”

“Hmm. It appears, Sergeant, getting wounded has loosened your tongue.”

“I should get shot more often.”

“Please don’t,” Valentine said sharply.

“I’ll try not to.” Peter reached out, gently touched Valentine’s knee.  He squeezed once and then let go. Valentine ran fingers down Peter’s spine. A long scar drew his attention. He touched it and Peter quivered. “Where William stabbed me.”

“Looks deep.”

“Missed the cord by a few centimeters.”

“A lot of people try to hurt you, I see.”

“Just part of life.”

Valentine nipped the warm flesh behind the ear and Peter moaned. “I know we have to wait but you smell delicious.”

“Damn, Val, you are killing me.” Peter shuddered. Valentine returned to massaging and soon Peter slept, head on Valentine’s lap. Valentine run his fingers through Niedermayer’s hair, absently wondering just what they were were doing. In his mind’s eye, he kept seeing the large hand gripping the glass and then setting it down, so determined not to destroy anything, not to let go. " _What would he do for someone he loves? Have you even thought about that?”_ He leaned down and kissed Niedermayer’s temple.

He gazed around the apartment and wondered about Peter. A few photos, a few small items. He heard his phone, yanked it from his pocket. “What?” he hissed.

Backstrom’s voice. “Is he all right?”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Get him to talk, Val."

  
“He does to me.”

“To _us_ , you moron.”

“Yeah, right. He’s recovering. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Do it, Valentine. We need to know.”

“I said I’ll talk to him. Lay off.”

“You lay him. Good sex makes people talk.”

“Hanging up now.” He turned off his phone, felt Peter shift on his lap. “Better?”

“Yes.”

Peter stood up, moved and made tea. Valentine watched him, noting he moved a little easier. They drank tea and Valentine simply watched, smiling as Niedermayer’s neck reddened. Niedermayer carefully set his tea aside, stood, and limped to stand over Valentine. He leaned down and kissed, soft yet with storms of pent passion just underneath. Valentine stood up, clenched him close.

Peter drew him to the bedroom. “You’re hurt,” Valentine protested.

“I have one good hand and one unhurt mouth,” Peter replied. “And the painkillers are working just fine right now.”

Valentine didn’t even put up a token fight.

Afterwards, Valentine and Peter laid together in a state of bliss. Valentine finally rolled out of bed and Peter stood. “Ah, I have to…” Valentine started.

“It’s all right, Val. I know you have business.” Peter walked to the shower. “Want to clean up first?”

Valentine left with a smile.

Backstrom faced Hart, trying to stop himself from sneering. “What, Backstrom?”

“Come walk with me, Hart.”

“Why? I’m off the review team. No need to suck up.”

“You wish. Come on.”

The two burly men walked outside, ignoring the cold wind. “Saw your porn debut,” Backstrom said. "Is that what happened to your arm?”

“I sprained it. What is this about?”

‘Security cameras, you fool.” Backstrom stopped and shoved Hart into the wall, grabbing and squeezing the sore arm. Hart shouted, raised a hand. “Touch any member of my team again and I will release the video,” he promised.

“Get off me, you asshole!”

“I saw what you did to Niedermayer. You not only assaulted him, you tried to sexually assault him as well? What kind of sick fuck are you?”

“Me? You harbor a psychopath. He doesn’t have an ounce of empathy in him. He’s sick!”

“Are we talking about the same Niedermayer? The man who spent over two hours driving bats to a wildlife refuge and also captures feral cats and dogs for vet checks and neutering? The man cries at commercials!”

Hart scowled. “He’s a monster. Oh, he can act but no, he gets off on death and killing.”

Backstrom laughed. “Right. That’s why he saved me.”

“So he could kill. I know he seems decent, Backstrom, talking all the time but OK. He’s not. He’s sick.”

Backstrom shook his head. “My god, he must have something good on you. He’s a bit wimpy, yeah, but he’s decent at his job.”

“Because he’s a killer himself.”

Backstrom studied Hart. “All because of the flare gun, right? You took all the sympathy and credit for Bentley Bank and that clusterfuck made your career. And Niedermayer is a threat?”

“Do you hear yourself? Bentley is over and done and you’re ignoring the fact you have a serial killer on your team!”

“Shut up, just shut up.” Backstrom had had it. “He’s never once done anything to hurt anyone. In fact, the worst thing he’d ever said about your useless carcass is ‘He isn’t fond of me’. I tell him daily that he’s an idiot and he still took two crossbow bolts for me. What kind of shitty boss must you have been?’

“I don’t coddle killers or killer faggots..”

Backstrom stepped away, breathed noisily. “I hope he destroys you,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “He won’t but I can dream.”

“Just watch your back.”

Backstrom stomped to where Moto waited in a car. “Hart’s a moron, boss.”

“I know that! Get the team together. Tell them to go to Niedermayer’s tonight. I’ll drag it out of him.”


	12. 12

Valentine stopped by the precinct as the team shut down for the evening. “What’s going on?” he asked Paquet. She looked at him with a worried smile and pushed back her hair.

“We have to visit Niedermayer. And Backstrom is upset.”

“The whole team? Does he know you’re coming over?”

“Boss wants to surprise him.”

Valentine shook his head. “Cornering him will just piss him off. This is not a good idea.” He stepped into Backstrom’s office, stepping over a pile of files on the floor in a box. “You're making a mistake.”

“Like you know.” Backstrom piled papers into his outbox.

“He doesn’t want to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to deal with paperwork but I do.”

“He saved your life!”

“We need to know, Valentine.”

“Why? He’s still Niedermayer.”

“Because I’d like to know just who is riding beside me,” Backstrom snapped. “Mr. Cheery Sunshine has one heck of a dark past.”

“What, saving people?”

“It’s not that. He knows things, he never came forward.”

“Yeah, because…” Valentine paused. “It’s over, done with. You just want him to tell you things that he’s unwilling to tell.”

“He’s a cop and if he hid things…”

“He’s not dirty, jesus. He’s allowed a personal life.”

“This isn’t cheating on his wife or banging someone while on a stakeout! He’s hiding things!”

“Yes, personal things. Nothing bad.”

“And how would I know that?”

“Maybe by trusting him!”

“Trust works both ways.” Valentine muttered something under his breath. “It’s a cop thing. Christ, I’m not going to hurt him.”

“He may not see that. After all, sensitivity isn’t your forte.”

“See this list Valentine?” Backstrom grabbed a piece of paper. “All the people in the station who like to needle Niedermayer about being whatever he is. I’m taking care of that. He’s an idiot, yes, but my idiot and this is my team. I won’t have one team member goes all crazy rogue and not know why.”

“Rogue? This team is all he has. Newsflash, Backstrom, he has no one but the team and his friends. No family, nothing. Even you and I have each other and that waste that’s our father. And my mother for me. He has _nothing_.”

“I’m not kicking him off. Stop being a drama queen. You and he are made for each other.”

Valentine rolled his eyes. “Then let me go over first. Give me 20 minutes. I can convince him.”

“I bet you can,” Backstrom said.

Valentine flipped him off. “20 minutes,” he said. He left in a hurry.

Peter answered the door, smelling of incense and wearing a robe and pajama bottoms. “Val? Hi, come in.” He stepped back, wondering what had brought the younger man here. Valentine swallowed and Peter’s heart thudded. Valentine seemed upset. _Don’t do this. Please._ _We can be so good together._ His chest tightened. “What’s going on?” Valentine pushed in and Peter closed the door. He didn’t miss Valentine’s twitching hands or nervous breathing. “Val?” _This is going to hurt._

“I’ve whored. Before.” Peter blinked. “I was 15.”

“Oh.” Peter gestured to the couch. “All right.”

“And I was captured and burned.” Peter nodded. He’d known this, pushed down on the still simmering rage. He sat and silently watched Valentine. “Paquet worked with criminals. Gravely broke a man’s fingers. Moto worries he’s a shitty father and Almond barely keeps his church going. He’s bad at the whole pastor-conman gig. Blue is an abusive, dirty cop and Backstrom is an addict.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“What you did isn’t bad.’

Peter exhaled noisily. “Val, I told you. I am not torn up about what I did.”

“No. You don’t want to risk everything by telling people and they turning against you.”  Valentine came over to him, sat next to him. “You need to tell them. And get dressed.”

Peter stared a moment then bit back an angry retort. “They’re coming here, aren’t they?” he asked, glad his voice seemed calm. From Valentine’s wary look, it appeared it wasn’t as calm as he hoped. “All right, I’ll get dressed. Thank you for telling me.”

“Peter, trust them!”

“I do trust them.”

“You always see people as whole beings. Do you think they’ll turn against you?”

Peter awkwardly stood, rubbing his sore shoulder. “I trust them with my life,” he finally admitted. “I just--.”

Valentine snorted. “Do you see me as a thief?”

Peter shook his head. “No, why would I?”

“All right, I’m a bad example. You know what I am.”

“What you do is surely not all you are.”

Valentine snapped his fingers. “Your friend, Chandler?”

“Ah, yes?”

“Him. His boyfriend.”

“Chandler and Kent?”

“ Yes! Do you remember what you told me you told him so he’d actually take a chance on Kent?”

“I simply said ‘You told me he’s seen the worst of you, now show him the best.’ It really wasn’t much, Val. I simply helped him relax and see more clearly.”

“Do that. But in reverse.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everyone on this team has seen you at your best.”

“I try.”

“Show them you at your worst. Let them know what happened.”

“It wasn’t my worst! Val, I’m not ashamed of what I did! I’m still confused on how people saw me as evil when I tried my best. I couldn’t make them understand how I felt…” Valentine held up a hand.

“I know. Try to make these people understand, all right?”

Peter mumbled under his breath. Valentine smiled, kissed him.  “Go get dressed.”

“I still don’t think I need to tell them.”

“You believe in trust, right? Then give them the benefit of the doubt.”  Niedermayer frowned. “You don’t have to bare your soul. Just talk a little.”

Peter walked to his bedroom, dressed, and came out to find the team awkwardly standing around his apartment. “Sit.” He himself sat on one of the kitchen chairs.

“Go away, Valentine,” Backstrom ordered.

“Not your place, big man.”

“Cop stuff,” Backstrom said. Valentine walked to Niedermayer, gazed down at him.

“You ok with that?”

“I’m fine.” Valentine handed Niedermayer his pain pills and then kissed him hard.

“I’ll see you soon.” he left and Peter watched him go. When he looked back at his friends, Gravely merely smiled. Backstrom, as usual, looked annoyed.

“Did he convince you?” Backstrom asked.

“I’ll tell you,” Niedermayer said, weary to his bones. He recalled Bentley Bank, explaining that Hart didn’t see what he did as anything but the act of a monster. Gravely winced. He didn’t tell them his emotional confusion or how the betrayal still hurt. Backstrom eyed him as he got up and made a pot of tea. Paquet came over, embraced him. A trickle of warmth started to melt the ice in his stomach and he offered coffee and tea to everyone. Backstrom actually tried the tea.

“Doctor said it has healing qualities,’ he said defensively.

“Ok, Backstrom,” Almond said. “So Hart didn’t know the fire could start?”

“Yes, I told him. It was the plan. I just couldn’t gauge how big it would be. I hoped it would be small but I knew what could happen.” Niedermayer sipped his tea.

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Gravely said. Niedermayer nodded.

“I don’t like violence. I regret that people died, then and with Backstrom and I. I don’t regret what I did.”

Backstrom studied him. Finished his tea. “Why didn’t you come forward?”

“Sir?”

“You’re like a nipping little dog, Niedermayer. Nip, yap, and nip until someone listens. And you couldn’t do that to Hart?”

“Backstrom!” Gravely glowered.

“10 cops. Three dead. Seven of us left and six agreed with Hart. I tried to persist, sir. But my evidence didn’t come to me until months later and people needed Hart. Reece and Matthews got disability because of Hart and more. Perhaps I should have pushed more.”

“You put Hart on his knees,” Almond said. “I didn’t think you could do like that.”

“Nerve pressure points. I don’t fight but I know anatomy.”

“When did you learn to shoot?” Moto asked.

“I can shoot decently. I’m focused. I don’t like guns but they can be useful.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Gravely asked.

“It is my past. It’s over. And no, it’s not tied to the Faulkner case other than me.” They spent a little bit more time talking. Almond poured Niedermayer another cup of tea and handed it to him.

“We should have first asked how you were,” he said.

“Deb said I can do therapy outpatient and, while a little swollen right now, I’m healing well.” Niedermayer smiled. Almond patted his arm.

“You look like shit,” Backstrom muttered.

“You are pale,” Paquet said.

“Tired.”

“Let’s go,” Gravely said. She walked over, squeezed Niedermayer’s arm. “Rest for the review.”

“I will.”

“Moto, wait for me,” Backstrom said. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Backstrom,” Gravely started.

“He’ll be fine.”

Alone with Niedermayer, Backstrom inhaled and looked Niedermayer in the eye. “I don’t understand everything yet but you saved my life. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I need the coffee names Amy wanted.” Niedermayer nodded, wrote quickly on a piece of paper, and handed it to him. Backstrom stared steadily at him.

“Sir?”

‘I owe you my life. But hurt him and they will never find your body, understood?” Niedermayer stared, pupils widening. Then he slowly nodded, lips quirking.

“I understand.”

“Good. Good night.”

“Good night.”

“And get some sleep. You look like hell.”


	13. 13

 

At the barge, Backstrom flipped through copies of the Bentley Bank files, ignoring his rumbling stomach. Valentine stepped from his room, shook his head, and played with his phone. He then sat and watched Backstrom without saying a word. After around 20 minutes, he walked up the stairs, talked to someone, and came back with pizza. ‘Thanks,” Backstrom said as Valentine handed him a plate.

“Niedermayer?”

“Is fine.” Backstrom reviewed paperwork. “I understand why Hart was pissed.”

“Then enlighten me. Peter saved lives.”

“Niedermayer lied to them. Everyone saw him as incapable of hurting anyone, as weak. Suddenly he coolly kills four people and not only that, doesn’t tear himself apart about it. He shattered what they all thought they knew, what they trusted.” Backstrom ate quickly. “It’s hard to believe again when the person next to you is not what you’ve come to know.”

“Yeah, next time he should just let people shoot him.”

“He’s done that already. Not smart.” Backstrom glanced around. “Do you see another pile of papers?”

“Like you don’t have hundreds.” Valentine grabbed a few fallen files. “Here. And remember next week you have a reservation on Saturday at the Bistro. 7 PM.”

“Why?”

“It’s your girlfriend’s birthday dinner, god.” Valentine rolled his eyes.

“Her birthday isn’t until Thursday of next week and how did you get reservations?!”

“Someone owed a favor. And you’re welcome. Dress up.”

Backstrom scowled. “Any other secrets about your boyfriend I should know?”

“He has an author college buddy who used him as a character in a book.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. Author is Paul Sievers. Writes under the name Paul Sawyer. Writes detective-murder mystery novels.”

“Great.” Backstrom rubbed his eyes. “You read any?”

“No. Detective novels bore me. And I get enough murder mystery from you.”

“Fine.”

Backstrom flicked through the files, began studying again. Valentine ate and then left for ‘business’. Backstrom leafed through the papers and then began scribbling notes.  He woke when something light smacked on his chest. He picked up the battered paperback. “‘Murder In Moonlight’? What stupid crap is this?”

“One of Sawyer’s books.” Valentine wagged another paperback at him. “I have ‘The Killing Code.’

Backstrom grumbled and stumbled into the bathroom. When he emerged, clean and dressed, he found Valentine reading. “Any good?”

“Ehh.” Valentine frowned. “The protagonist is definitely based on Peter. Name is Alan Lang.”

"Valentine, one thing you need to do before you and Niedermayer get handsy..."

"Too late."

"Ewww. Just, look at his face, all right? Watch him watch you."

Valentine finally looked up. "What?"

Backstrom sighed. "Just look at how he watches you," he said.

"What are you babbling about?"

"Never mind. I am surrounded by morons."

When Backstrom informed the others of Niedermayer in books, Moto blinked. “Niedermayer knows him? Those books are decent.”

“Seriously?” Backstrom asked.

“Yeah. Author knows cops, at least. Gory as hell, perverted, but interesting. Is Alan Lang Niedermayer? Because that man is sick. Seriously mentally sick.”

“Niedermayer?” Paquet asked.

“No, the character Alan Lang. Shows up in a number of books. Reoccurring character. Cop who is also a serial killer.”

“Is this important?” Gravely asked.

“It’s interesting.” Almond poured a cup of coffee. “Besides, who knows is this Sawyer may appear sometime?’

“Great. I feel our lives all revolve around Niedermayer,” Bacstrom muttered.

“Jealous?” Paquet teased, eyes bright. “Usually it is you.”

“Ha, ha.”

“We are needed on an attack on Elm Street,” Gravely said. “Almond, Moto, with me. Paquet, Backstrom, we’ll let you know.”

Paquet sighed. “Come on,” she said to Backstrom. “Let’s go over some files.”

“Great. Pull phone records.”

“What do you have?”

“I think I’m on to why. We know what happened, when, how, and where. The why is pretty much known but there’s more, Nadia.”

“He’s a good man.

  
“Not saying he isn’t. He got played--hard--and I think there’s more to that.”

“Do you think the review will go badly?”

“No, standard bs. Except for Agent Michaels throwing a tizzy.”

Paquet nodded. Leaned next to him. “He and Valentine are good?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Funny how no one cares how _I’m_ doing.”

“We do care. That is how you got a reservation for Amy and you.”

Backstrom blinked, touched. “Oh.” He breathed deeply. “Ah, thank you.” He never knew how to respond to such acts of kindness. Paquet squeezed his hand.

The review, the next morning, was anticlimatic. Michaels hurled accusations but the facts stood for themselves. Backstrom and Niedermayer easily sailed through the review. Backstrom grinned at hearing he was back to full duties. “Paperwork is still yours,” Gravely said.

“I’ll leave it for Niedermayer.”

“No, you won’t.” Gravely shook her head at him. “Where’d he go anyway?”

“He’s talking to Watts.” Almond walked over, clapped Backstrom’s shoulder. “Moto is watching them.”

“Why?” Gravely asked.

“Just in case.”  

Backstrom wandered outside the station where Watts and Niedermayer stood in front of the station. Niedermayer looked better--still using a cane but he moved more freely. He’d dressed in his normal suit and tie and Backstrom realized he’d actually seen Niedermayer not in a suit or tie--which was odd. Moto sidled over. “Ten bucks on Watts.”

“You’ve seen and heard what Niedermayer can do.”

“Yeah but Watts is his friend and he doesn’t do that to friends.”

Backstrom nodded. “Why is Watts complaining about?”

Moto looked chagrined. “Valentine.”

“Seriously?”

Backstrom tried to listen but only caught words such as stupid mistake, angry, and sleeping around. Niedermayer withdrew from Watts, stepped back a few feet, and visibly composed himself. Watts stepped close and  embraced him. Niedermayer lightly hugged back and then bent his head as Watts continued to talk. “Yeah, this is not going well,” Gravely said from Backstrom’s side. “I’ll rescue him.”

Niedermayer ‘rescued’ himself. He interrupted Watts with a low, clear “I understand. See you soon” and walked away. Watts started to follow but Gravely stopped him with a hand on his arm. A car pulled up beside Niedermayer. Valentine hopped out, gestured to the car. He settled Niedermayer into the passenger seat, strode past people to Backstrom. “He has a therapy session,” he said, ignoring Watts completely. Watts and Gravely muttered at each other..

“Fine.” Backstrom wished his hearing was better.

“Review went well?” Valentine’s sharp gaze flicked over Backstrom and Moto.

“We’re clear.”

“Good.” Valentine smiled and went back to the car, flipping Watts off as he passed. He drove away and Backstrom stepped over to Watts. The blond smelt faintly of cologne and soap. Watts glanced at him, suspicious and curious at the same time.

“You said you never slept with Niedermayer.” Watts rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t.”

“But you sure fucked him over.” Watts blinked. “He doesn’t even guess, does he? All this yelling and outrage--it’s not concern, it’s guilt.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I wondered how Hart could have worn Niedermayer down. Especially because Niedermayer freaked him out. He got you to do it.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Really? Phone records show you and Hart called each other a lot.”

“Yeah, we worked  together. What are you checking up on me for?”

“NIedermayer is a mule. Used to be more of one, I heard. You wore him down. I sniffed around. Must have been a helluva of a promotion to screw over your best friend. And your partner.”

“I earned my promotion on my merits!”

“And Hart’s pull didn’t hurt, did it? He’s always had connections. What else did Hart promise? What else did he do?”

Watts’ face mottled with rage. “I saved Peter’s ass,” he choked out. “He needed someone to deflect Hart’s rage because Hart wanted Peter’s head. All I did was tell Peter whatever happened, he should fall in line because six cops against one wasn’t going to work. Reece and Matthews got disability. Franklin got his evidence job.”

“And Niedermayer? So what did he get out of this? Oh, right, his best friend stabbing him in the back for a promotion.” Watts stiffened.

“I don’t even know what happened out there,” Watts snapped. “”All I knew was something happened.”

“You may not have known everything but Hart did. And you believed him.”

“I knew Hart was pissed. I didn’t think he’s send Peter to your misfit team. Why do you think I wanted him to transfer?”

“But no where near you.”

“He **can’t** be at Salem. There would be issues. And not with him but my family. Walter would be--upset.”

“So hubby dear knows Niedermayer and you were close?”

“ _Are_ close. Stop acting like you care, Backstrom. Who do you think will have to pick up the pieces when your brother rips him apart?!”

“Give Niedermayer some credit. He’s not completely stupid.”

“No but he is easy to charm and bamboozle and use. Something your team seems to know about.”

“Not us who betrayed him. If Valentine breaks his heart, he’ll do it to his face. And Paquet never lied to him, either.”

Watt’s light eyes resembled dirty ice, hard, cold. “I have several friends in different law enforcement fields. They’d love somebody with Peter’s skills.”

“Give it up. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Valentine may be good in bed but no one is that good.”

“You slept with him?” Gravely blurted. Backstrom jerked and glared as he’d forgotten she was there. Watts gave her an amused smile.

“Who hasn’t?”

Backstrom felt Gravely’s rage as a wave of heat. “Enough,” he murmured to her. “Valentine has been around, so have a lot of us. Including Watts.” He noted his entire team had drawn near, each watching him for an indication of what he wanted, each angry. “Just leave, Watts. We’ll care for him.”

“He won’t believe you, you know. And even if he did, he’d understand.”

“Yeah, you need to leave,” Gravely snapped. “Niedermayer has us. Take off.”

Watts glanced around and left without another word.

Backstrom gestured and his team followed. In his office, he grinned at Almond. “So we have a full team. The scapegoat, the political pawn, the criminal, the wanna be, the addict and now the liar.”

“Hey,” Gravely mildly protested while Almond shook his head but smiled.

“Does he frighten you?” Moto asked.

“Are you kidding? Squeaky clean boy is actually human. I love it.”

Gravely rolled her eyes. “When will we tell him about Watts?” Paquet asked.

“Don’t. He’s been through a lot. Let him enjoy the illusion. He can always be told later.” Backstrom tapped his pile of paperwork. “Gravely, don’t we have a case?”

“Yep. Attack, victim alive. You ready?”

They walked off together.

“You all right?”

Valentine drove but flashed a quick look to Niedermayer. The older man seemed distressed. “I’m all right,” he said. “Mark and I disagreed.”

“Good friend there. You got good news and Watts rains on the parade.”

“He simply doesn’t agree, that’s all.”

“About me, right? Prick.”

“He wants me to transfer, that’s all. He thinks I can never get out from under Bentley’s cloud here.” Niedermayer reached over and squeezed Valentine’s knee. “Not you.”

“Do you _ever_ get angry?” Valentine shook his head. “And yeah, he’s pissed about me.”

“Of course I get angry. I’ve spent years learning to understand my emotions. I don’t want to scream or yell--I want to be calm. Peaceful.”

White knuckles clutching a glass.

“It’s all right to let go, Peter.”

“I do. And not at you. Not in anger.”

“Looking forward to experiencing that letting go.” Valentine almost felt the blush. “Read one of Sawyer’s books,” he added. Niedermayer groaned. “Enlightening. Alan is psychotic. But he is also way kinky.”

“I read one. Gruesome is a good word. And yes, he is demented.”

“Just what did you and your college buddy do?”

“Nothing! I mean, it’s a really long story.”

“”And?”

Niedermayer squirmed. “I was pretty angry in college, fluctuated between hating the world and desperately wanting to make sense of things. Paul and I read similar books, he knew William, visited me in the hospital. We talked, hung out. He was angry too. We shared a lot of darkness. But we never hurt any living being."

“Huh.” Valentine pulled into Deb’s parking lot. “You are an iceberg, Peter. A lot under the surface.”

“I’m not that complex.” Peter struggled out of the car. Valentine walked over to him.

He looked worried and yearning and he kissed Valentine a long, sweet kiss, holding tight. Valentine saw moisture in his eyes and buried his fingers in his hair.

“Watts will give every reason in the world to leave,” Valentine whispered. “Stay anyway.”

“I’m not leaving.”

Valentine kissed him again, ran one hand over his hip. He drew back, saw love in a way he never expected to see.

" _Look at how he watches you."_

_"No one has ever looked at me with such love..."_

_He remembered telling Backstrom that harsh truth, only his abuser had gazed at him with such love. Until now. Peter stared at him with shining, worried eyes and Valentine's breath caught. Backstrom remembered and had seen this. How had he missed it?_

“You are an idiot,” he murmured, voice choked, squeezing even harder.

“Your idiot?” Niedermayer asked with a weird inflection in his voice.Fear? Questions? Concerns? Valentine pressed his lips against Peter’s, felt Peter’s heart thudding. His own heart pounded.

“No one else’s.”

 


End file.
